Sherlocked
by kateface1993
Summary: 20 year old Evee unknowingly gets mixed up with one of London's most notorious criminals and must live a second life to stay Each day she learns more and more about the infamous Sherlock Holmes, a man who ruins her young adult years yet gives her a new beautifully chaotic life she can never
1. The Very Beginning

**So I'm guessing this is how you put notes? Sure? Okay:**

**This is my first ever Fan-Fiction post. So if I make a few mistakes please don't judge me too harshly. I would very much appreciate any and all feedback. I want to write a story that is worth reading, so of course I want to hear what I'm doing right, what I'm doing wrong, etc etc.**

**Also, I apologize in advance if this first chapter bores you. I promise Sherlock will be making his appearance soon enough, and there will be a lot more action. **

**Enjoy!**

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"Start from the beginning."

"Alright well I'm almost positive the agents brought me to the ambulance around 10:30 and-"

"No, I meant like the beginning-beginning."

"Oh, okay well it was ten when I heard the first shots-"

"Evee"

My head shot up. The dark skinned woman sitting across from me stared deeply into my eyes.

"Start from the very beginning."

I sighed and held eye contact with her. "It was exactly 8:22 when I walked into my classroom.

"I was late. Again. The room was dark, only the light from the projector allowing me to see my surroundings. My teacher turned and raised his eyebrows at me without missing a word of his lecture. I remember thinking how lucky he should be that I even decided to show up. It was the worst class I had. It started eight a.m. every day and lasted about three hours. The worst part was the fact that I already knew everything. I had failed that class last year by two points. It was because of that F that I would not graduate with the rest of my classmates. So you could say I wasn't fond of that class."

I looked up at my counselor. "Far back enough?"

She slowly nodded her head. I continued.

"I sat at the front of the class, hoping that would force me to focus and pass easily. I also sat in front of one of the classroom doors. I liked being able to see down the long hallway we were placed at the end of. The school was quiet though, and the halls were empty. So I didn't mind so much that the classroom doors were closed.

"I remember looking up at the clock at exactly 9:59. I remember thinking 'oh good, only an hour left'. That was when I heard the first two shots and screams." I paused, focusing on my fidgeting hands, allowing my memories to flood back. "My teacher yelled for us all to get on the ground. We have our own drafting desks, so they were large and easy to hide behind. I remember hearing my classmates begin crying and calling loved ones, some whispering while others couldn't help but cry out. I could hear my teacher calling 911.

"My phone was in my bag, which was on the opposite side of my desk. I sat there, heart pounding, yet still not sure what to think. I wanted to call my family, tell them what was going on, and tell them I loved them. It wasn't till the second round of shots, much louder and much closer, that I started to get scared. I had watched all the TV specials on school shootings and what to do if you're a student, but at that moment none of those insider tips were coming back to me. All I knew was I needed to get ahold of my family.

"More shots rang out, only this time they were in our hallway. There was screaming and running, followed by more shots. I looked around the corner of my desk and saw a strap of my bag. It could easily be reached, and by the sound of things outside our door I was running out of time. I decided to go for it, and quietly crept around the side of my desk, arm outstretched, reaching for that one strap."

I went silent, remembering what happened next. It played out like a movie in my mind. My therapist shifted her weight, making me speak before she was able to.

"That was when the door opened. I looked up to see a man, bloodied and breathless, hovering over me. We locked eyes. He had a pistol in his right hand. He stared down at me, horrified. I stopped breathing, unsure of what I could possibly do now to save my life. I waited, waited for him to shoot me, but instead, he opened his mouth and shakily whispered, 'this is not an exit?' Without thinking I shook my head. His eyes were scared and glossy. That's when he slowly reached into his shirt pocket and grabbed a small piece of folded paper, tossing it down to me. He began to mumble something, but…" I trailed off, the next part slowly seeping back into my mind, every brutal detail.

"But what?"

"But he couldn't finish, because he was then shot six times in the back. My classmates screamed as I moved out of the way of the falling body. I honestly don't remember whether or not I screamed. After a few seconds of quiet I heard someone in the hall changing out a gun clip. After that I heard a deep voice speaking in what sounded like Russian, then what I can only describe as an evil laugh.

"That's when it all started to click. The dead man in front of me wasn't the shooter. I looked closer at his body and saw a FACULTY tag clipped on him. He worked here at the school. He was trying to lead the crazed killer out of the school, and that's why he was looking for an exit.

"As this was all processing through my mind, I almost didn't hear the heavy footsteps headed towards me from the end of the hall. The shooter was headed right to where I was. I began to panic, and started to make my way back behind my desk, but something caught my eye. The dead man's gun lay almost two yards away from me. It was then that I realized I had a decision to make. Go grab the gun and possibly be seen by the killer in the process, or continue to crawl back behind my desk and hope for the best.

"I didn't have much time to think about it, so I began to say a little prayer and lurched forward for the gun, not daring to look anywhere else but at my goal. I grabbed the weapon and stayed lying on my back, knowing it would be impossible to get back to my original spot without being noticed. The heavy steps got closer, and a shadow began to appear. Finally the large shape of a man stood in the doorway, blocking the light. I couldn't see his face or any other feature. I froze, unsure of what was to come next. I continued praying in my mind. After what felt like years the figure took a quick step forward and that's when I…did it."

"When you did what?"

"When I shot him."

"Do you remember where you shot him?"

"No, I just remember aiming for the center mass."

"And do you remember how many times you shot?"

"No, I only remember pulling the trigger as many times as it would let me until the gun was empty."

"Alright so then what?"

I sighed and thought about it for a second. "Well, the rest is kind of a blur. I sat there for a good five minutes without moving. I could vaguely hear the sirens outside and a helicopter above. My classmates were silent, unknowing of what had happened in the dark. After some time I spoke up, saying I think the shooter is dead because I killed him. After hearing these words my teacher immediately ran to me. I told him I was fine, so he turned on the lights to double check.

"That's when the scene finally unveiled itself. I hadn't realized it before but I was lying in a large pool of blood. I had thought the wetness was my own sweat. I tried to stand up but I got dizzy, so my teacher helped me over against another desk. Some of the other students started to get curious, and a couple began screaming and sobbing at the scene. The two men's bodies lay on top of each other. As horrifying and gruesome as it was, I couldn't pull my eyes away.

"The rest you can figure out yourself. The police came and searched the school for anymore shooters, escorted everyone out, blah blah blah, you know the drill. Then after everything was presumed to be 'alright', they took me in a separate ambulance and asked me questions and held me overnight to make sure I was fine and, well, that's pretty much it."

"Mhmm. So anything else you'd like to share?"

"Mmm nope not really. I've talked to a few different therapists already so I've pretty much gotten everything out of my system."

"Alright then." She stood up. "Thank you for your time Evee. I'm sure we'll be seeing each other again soon."

I stood up and walked with her to the door. "Thank you for listening to me." I said this with a smile on my face, but honestly I was quite tired of repeating the same nightmarish story over and over again. I was halfway down the hall when I heard her voice again.

"Oh Evee wait! There is just one more thing!"

I rolled my eyes and turned around, walking back toward the woman. "Yes?"

"I forgot. The note that the first man threw down to you."

"Oh yes! I had almost completely forgotten! After my teacher turned the lights on I saw it and quickly scooped it up. It was short, and didn't make much sense to me. The special agents who took me away though confiscated it. They seemed very odd about it, but when I questioned what the note meant they said they didn't know either, but had to take it for examination or something like that."

"Ah that is funny. Do you mind me asking, what was written on the note?

I looked up at the curious wide-eyed woman."

"'Moriarty Is Alive'."


	2. The London Flower

"London?! It's all the way in London?!"

My mom wasn't too thrilled with the idea.

"Mom, please. Just read the letter." I reached out towards her, paper in hand.

She leaned against the counter and looked at the letter out of the corner of her eye. After a few seconds of thought she threw her towel in the sink and grabbed the letter. I stood there in silence as she carefully read. I knew this was hard for her, especially with having to take care of my aunt's six year old twins on her own. She needs me around.

But after reading the original contents of the package I had received just the day before, I knew this was necessary.

The small parcel didn't get to me via mail. Instead I found it on my bed when I got home from my therapy session. My window was open, which I don't remember opening. The wrapped package had no stamps or any sort of writing on it. I looked around before picking it up and unwrapping it.

The cardboard box contained two envelopes, a brochure, a phone and a passport. The top envelope said "Read First" in cursive handwriting. Inside was a typed out letter on parchment paper with the British seal in the top corner. It was very long and drawn out and had lots of big fancy words, but for the most part I understood what it was saying: that because of the incident at school I may have picked up a few enemies, therefore for my own protection and well-being it would be in my best interest to go stay a few months in London under the protection of the British Government. It also explained that this was very "top secret" and no one by any means needs to know. It furthermore stated that this did not mean for a fact that my life was currently in danger, but precautions should be taken "just in case".

The end of the letter gave me instructions if I did decide to cooperate. It told me to use the phone provided and send a message with a "Y" for "Yes I'll go" or "N" for "No I'll stay" to the only contact saved. Then keep the phone on me, but to not use it until given more instructions.

The next part explained that the second envelope had a letter for me to show my mom, saying I've been accepted into a fake program where they send students who have dealt with traumatic experiences to a school in London that will "help me deal with the effects the shooting may have on me and give me a positive outlook". The brochure was also from this fake program that my mom could look over. To me it sounded so corny and fake, but I knew that my mom would fall for it.

The passport was mine, already made and perfect. I didn't have to do anything.

Also in the first envelope was a plane ticket. It was a non-stop flight to London leaving exactly in one week.

My head was spinning. Was this real? How could it be? Then again how could it NOT be? They had all my information, obviously knew where I lived, and it all seemed very…official. I mean if this was all as "top secret" as they had made it sound, how else would they have given me all this information? There wasn't any other away. At least not as simple as this one.

I decided not to give the letter to my mom that night, but instead sleep on it and make my decision in the morning. But at night I couldn't sleep. My thoughts were in high gear, running all around everywhere in my head. I reread the letter at least five more times. Around four in the morning I decided to grab my tablet and look up the fake program I would be attending. It had a website that was nice enough to seem real to anyone who didn't know better. After that I searched the number of the unnamed contact in the provided phone, but no results came up. I was about to set my computer on the ground when a thought popped into my head. I brought up Google and typed in the search box "Moriarty".

What came up shocked me.

Moriarty was a young fellow who was a very famous criminal in London. He was deadly and had many accomplices. I clicked on every link I could find that had info on the mad man. In every article I read there mentioned a "Sherlock Holmes", a consulting detective that I presumed must be his "arch nemesis." My eyes lids started to droop, but I tried my hardest to stay awake, to read more on this villain.

It had been no more than five minutes when all the pieces clicked together in my mind.

It was like a montage in a movie; all these random bits of information started connecting in my brain. I couldn't believe it. Why had it taken me so long to figure out? I started feeling sick to my stomach as I forced myself to connect the dots out loud:

"All websites I've found say Moriarty killed himself."

"All links say he is dead."

"The man at school threw me a note saying Moriarty is alive."

"That man was murdered."

"Special agents confiscate the note."

"I'm told I must go to London for my own safety."

"London's most genius criminal is actually alive."

"And he doesn't want anyone to know."

"And will kill anyone who might possibly ruin his cover."

"Including me."

"London's most famous fugitive wants me dead."

My head hurt. My jaw clenched. My stomach churned. How had this happened? I was just typical college kid one morning, and the next I had watched a man die, killed a man, and made a foreign enemy who wanted me dead.

So as I stood there watching my mom read the letter, I knew I had to go, whether she liked it or not. The longer I stayed unprotected in America the more dangerous my life became. I also didn't know what this Moriarty fellow was capable of, so I may be putting my family at risk as well if I stay here in the states.

My mom finished the letter and sighed. "Do you really think this will help?"

I nodded. "I believe so, yeah. I feel like all the counselors and doctors and therapists I've been to can only help so much. This place was made just specially for kids like me. It will help address all the issues that other 'professionals' have not been able to identify with."

Mother just stood there, biting her thumb nail, staring at the ground. These past two weeks have really worn down on her. She looked ragged. I didn't like it.

"I'll have to think about it." She set the paper on the counter.

"Okay. I'll just be up in my room." I walked slowly out of the kitchen and headed upstairs. I hadn't slept much at all the night before. So when I threw myself on my bed, it didn't take long for me to fall asleep.

The airport wasn't too crowded, which allowed me to relax just a little. I loved traveling, and I especially loved flying, but I've never flown out of the country before and I've never flown alone. So my anxiety levels were higher than they would normally be.

I was sitting at the gate, about twenty minutes before boarding time, when suddenly the phone that came in the box buzzed. I furrowed my brow as I flipped it open and clicked on the new message. I read it aloud to myself: "If you could go by a different name, what would you want to be called? Respond before takeoff."

I closed the phone. Why was I being asked this? Was this a trick question? Was I supposed to pick an already used name, or something I completely made up? What if this was to become my new identity while in London, to protect myself? That thought excited me. Very secret agent-esque. If that were the case, I knew I had to pick something good. But what?

I spent the next fifteen minutes searching baby names on my phone. I felt almost frustrated, wanting the perfect name to just pop out at me on the tiny screen. A voice on came across on the intercom, alerting all first-class passengers were to start boarding in five minutes. I sighed angrily and turned my phone off, shoving it into my pocket.

I knew something so simple shouldn't upset me so much. I knew I was overreacting. But my head literally was hurting from frustration. I hated that I was this way. According to doctors I just had "low serotonin levels in my brain", and that "it can easily be helped with medication". Sure, the pills did help quite a bit. But it couldn't cure me. I still was going to be easily upset. And I was just going to have to deal with it.

First class passengers were called to board. I stood up slowly and got in line, ticket in hand. As I was standing there I looked around, observing all the people around me, all traveling with different reasons to different destinations. I thought back to when I first passed the baggage claim and saw people meeting up for the first time in who knows how long. Couples embraced, parents and children hugged, some were in crying.

I remembered a certain couple in particular that I had passed. The woman had just gotten off her flight; a beautiful French girl. Her American boyfriend met her at the gate with flowers in hand. She jumped on him, kissing him hard, then took the flowers, smelled them, then excitedly rambled out some French. It was very sweet. The flowers were gorgeous too. They were azaleas, my mom's favorite. She had always loved them. Remembering the flowers made me miss my mom. I tried to focus on something else.

I was nearly to the ticket booth when a sudden thought hit me. I boarded the plane as fast as I could, wanting to be able to focus on my next plan of action. Luckily first class was quick and easy. I had a window seat, and was sitting next to a quiet older man. Thankfully for me, he put in his earphones immediately, showing he wanted to be left alone. I would happily oblige.

I briskly shoved my carry on under my seat, reached into my pocket, and opened what I was now calling my "ghost phone". The message concerning my name was at the top of my inbox. I hit "reply" and carefully typed out my new identity-

"Azalea Claire Weston."


	3. The Basement Flat

"So how was the plane ride, miss?"

"Oh it was good. Nothing too exciting." It was hard for me to talk without my teeth chattering away. I knew London would be cold, but I didn't realize it would be THIS cold. Even though it was mid-August, it was still quite warm in North Carolina. My jeans and light sweater felt more like fishnets and a blouse.

My new landlady unlocked the door leading down to my new flat. It was even colder downstairs than it was outside. Thank goodness one of the first things I noticed was a fireplace. Other than that the space was nearly barren. There was futon with sheets and blankets folded up at the foot against the wall, a loveseat facing the fireplace, a small coffee table in front of the loveseat, a full length mirror in a corner to the left of the fireplace, a dresser against the same wall as the bed, and a table with two chairs placed near the door leading outside. The air was damp, and the wallpaper was literally falling off.

"I know it's not much. If I had time I would have dressed the place up a bit, but I wasn't given more than a weeks' notice." I turned to the frail elderly lady standing beside me. I could tell she was a slight bit embarrassed.

"Ma'am I promise you, there is nothing wrong with this. I sort of like the rustic feeling I get from it. I don't need a lot to make me happy. Plus, I'll probably be spending most of my time out and about exploring the city." I saw her smile at me.

"Well alright. Anyways before I head back upstairs I should warn you there's no running water down here. So to use the toilet or bathe or cook you'll have to go up to the flat above yours. There's a gentleman that lives there, but don't worry, he's usually out working and is hardly ever home. He knows you're staying here, and he knows I gave you a key to his floor, so don't fret about scaring him."

Although it made me a little nervous knowing I'd have to share a bathroom with a man I've never met, I figured the British government wouldn't bother paying for me to move here, change my name, and give me "top secret" info if they didn't trust whom I was staying with.

After my landlady left I went to the bed and sat down. It was less than a minute before I spread out the heavy comforter and fixed a pillow under my head. I didn't even care that I was still in my travelling clothes. I was tired and cold.

I looked at my phone. It was almost noon. How funny was it to think that at noon yesterday I was in Atlanta waiting to board my first flight. The plane departed around 12:50 and landed in New York at about 3:15. Then I had to sit through a dreadful six hour layover. Thankfully I found an interesting new book to read in one of the airport shops. It was nearly nine before my second flight took off; then, seven hours later, I landed in London. The clocks around the airport said it was nine in the morning, and it took me a few seconds to remember the five hour time difference. So really, though my phone said it was almost noon, to me it was almost seven in the morning. I was exhausted.

I could feel myself start to drift into sleep, but before I gave in I grabbed my phone. I promised my mom that I would text her my address as soon as I could:

"Hi mom. My flights were fine and I have arrived at my new home. My address is 221c Baker Street London NW1 6XE England. I love you and miss you very much. Xoxoxo."

Although my mind wanted to sleep for days, my stomach had other plans. I sighed and sat up, exposing myself to the cold. I stood and wrapped one of the heavy blankets around me before heading upstairs. I didn't care whether or not the man from 221b was home, I was cold and tired, therefore I was taking the blanket.

I brought my keys with me but the door was open slightly. I slowly pushed past the door and tip toed my way inside. The flat was quite cozy. Messy, yes, but still very quaint. There were boxes of paperwork everywhere I looked and books covering any available surface. The curtains were pulled back, but the weather was grey and gloomy, so not much light filtered in.

I could hear some noise coming from my left, so I slowly snuck over and peaked around the corner. It was the kitchen, and sitting there at the table was a man reading the paper. I wasn't sure what to do. I felt like I was barging in. I started to think maybe I should leave and come back later. But I knew we'd have to meet at some point. Plus, I was getting very hungry

"Hi there." His head flew up at the sound of my voice.

"Oh why hello there." He put the paper down and stood up. "I'm sorry I didn't hear you come in. I'm presuming you are Azalea?"

It took me a second to remember that I now had a new name. "Yep that's me. And I should be the one saying sorry I kind of just waltzed into your home unannounced."

He smiled. "Oh it's no big deal. We're not huge on privacy around here. I'm John Watson." He stuck his hand out. I shook it, smiling and looking in his eyes. He was a cute little fellow. I expected a much older man. He seemed to be in his mid to late thirties. He was short, no more than an inch taller than me. His hair had a little grey to it, and his face looked a tad weathered.

"It's nice to meet you John. I love your apartment."

"Oh dear no it's a total disaster right now. I'm actually quite embarrassed by it now that you mention it."

"No please don't be! I find it nice and cozy. If you want to see embarrassing just go look at my room. I have nothing there."

He chuckled slightly. "Ah yes, 221c. You poor girl."

I laughed back. "Oh it's not all bad. I'll just have to charm it up a bit."

"Yes, yes. Would you like something to eat or drink?"

I was so glad he asked. "Actually yes, I'm starving."

He turned and walked to the fridge. It was then I noticed he had a limp. He had a cane leaning against the table, but he didn't use it. He opened the fridge door and looked around. I walked in and sat in one of the chairs at the table. I looked up and realized the fridge was nearly empty. He sighed and slowly closed the door, turning to me.

"Let's take a walk, shall we?"

We ended up going to the café next door to our flats. It was incredibly nice to know I wouldn't always have to intrude in John's space just to get some food. We ordered and talked a bit, getting to know each other. I learned that he used to be a military doctor, though now he just works in a clinic. He didn't seem too eager to talk about himself, so I mainly just shared my life story. He was very nice. It was very easy to talk to him. There was something familiar about him though that I couldn't quite put my finger on.

"Hello there Mr. Watson. Long time no see." I looked up to see a dark skinned woman walking over to our table.

"Ah, hello there Sally. What brings you here this evening?"

"Well I'm actually here to get you. Lestrade sent me. He said he needs you to come by the office at your convenience." She turned and looked at me. "And who's this?"

"Oh this is Azalea. She just moved from America into the flat below mine. Azalea this is Sally Donovan. An old colleague of mine."

I smiled. "It's nice to meet you miss."

John and the woman went back to talking, but I didn't listen much. My mind was busy. For some reason these names and work references were all sounding vaguely familiar. I had almost dropped it when part of their conversation caught my attention.

"Don't worry John, I don't think it has anything to do with Mr. Holmes. Lestrade wouldn't call you for that."

That was it. Holmes. Sherlock Holmes. THE Sherlock Holmes. John was his partner. They solved crimes together. They also lived together. Wait, were they living together in flat 221b? Was I living under what used to be the consulting detective's home? But there was no possible way that big of a coincidence could just happen. Could it? Maybe I was placed there on purpose. But why…

"Azalea? Are you alright?"

My head jerked up at the sound of my name. Sally had left. John just sat there staring me in the eyes. I didn't know what to do, so I just pointed at him. He looked a bit confused.

"You. You're Doctor John Watson."

"Yesss, and?"

"You were Sherlock Holmes' friend. You were his partner and flat mate and, I just, wow I can't believe I hadn't put the pieces together! I knew I recognized you but I guess I never would have thought I'd be staying in the flat below the one Sherlock Holmes lives in-"

"Lived." I looked up. "Lived, in."

Oh my…I didn't even think about it. Sherlock was John's best friend. And I carelessly just throw his existence (or lack of one) right in John's face. My stomach twisted with guilt.

"I'm, I'm so sorry John that was really rude of me. I didn't think that through."

John put on a quick smile. His voice was a little raspier. "It's fine it's not your fault. I've gotten used to it. I'm always being questioned about the infamous consulting detective." He looked down and stirred his coffee.

"Oh. Well he seemed interesting enough. To be honest I had never heard of him. I guess that's America for ya." I wanted to make polite small talk, but it wasn't going very smooth.

"Oh really?" John put two cubes of sugar in his cup and started stirring some more. "So how did you get to learning so much about him?"

"Well I was actually doing some research on Moriaty and I-"

"Wait what did you just say?" John had stopped stirring and was looking me with wide eyes. I froze.

"Uh, I said that I was doing some research on Moriarty and-"

"Why were you doing research on Moriarty? How do you know of him?" His tone was getting intense. So was his gaze.

"I, well, um, from the note." He just stared, confused. "Weren't you told why I was staying in London?"

I proceeded to tell him everything. Starting with the school shooting. His stare was unwavering. He was now leaning towards me, elbows on the table, hands together in front of his mouth. When I got to the part with the note thrown to me by the faculty member, his body visibly tensed up, and I could see tears welling in his eyes. I decided to act like I hadn't noticed and finished my story.

When I was done he was silent. I could see that he was trembling a little; I wasn't sure if I should say something to him. He spoke up though before I did.

"If you'll just excuse me, I need to make a quick phone call." I nodded as he walked out of the shop. The door was propped open, and he just paced back and forth in front of it. Even though I was curious as to what I said to make him so upset, I decided to give him his privacy and focus more on my delicious tomato soup.

Then I head John's voice, loud and angry: "Just because Sherlock is dead doesn't mean I'm dead too alright?!" A few of the customers lifted their heads to see what all the yelling was about. John then went back to using his lower voice. He soon came back with a wad of cash and put it on the table.

"This should be enough. I'm sorry Azalea to run like this but I have to be somewhere." He snatched his coat from the back of his chair and practically ran out of the café. He walked so fast out that his limp seemed to disappear. I picked through the wad of money and decided to just leave it all. I wasn't sure what was considered a good tip in London, so I figured you can't go wrong with over tipping.

I grabbed my jacket and walked out into the cold. The street was busy, people and taxis everywhere I looked. I walked a few steps to the door of my building, but instead of going in I decided to take a short trip around the block. I had only been here a few hours and I was already in love with this city. I wanted to see more.

As I strolled down the sidewalk, two very attractive young men were sitting on some apartment stairs. They stared at me as I walked, probably being able to tell I was foreign. I looked at them and smiled. One spoke up.

"Hey! Come over here for a second I want to tell you a secret!"

I couldn't help but smile like a dork. I made my way towards them, trying to hide my giddiness from their beautiful faces. The one who called me over had platinum blonde hair, a chiseled jaw line, and perfect teeth, which I was finding to be a rare occurrence here in Europe.

"You're not from around here are you?" He stood up. Oh dear me he was tall. Tall and muscular. I practically drooled.

"No I actually just flew in from America." It took all of my energy to focus on my words and not stutter.

"Oh. Nice. America. And did you come here with your boyfriend?"

"Nah, no boyfriend for me.

"Well that's quite surprising. I would expect a beautiful girl like yourself to have men fighting over you."

I was smiling so big my cheeks hurt. "Oh well thank you, you're too kind."

"Nah miss, just being honest. It's what I do." We both kind of chuckled and looked down at our feet. "So what's your name dear?"

"Azalea. And yours?"

"Rupert. It's nice to meet you Azalea. A pretty name with a pretty face."

I blushed. Or at least I blushed as much as I could. My cheeks are incapable of blushing. "You're seriously too sweet." He smiled and bit his bottom lip. Oh I could feel my heart melting. We stood there, chuckling at our own awkwardness, before I remembered my reason for joining him in the first place.

"So, you said you had to tell me a secret?"

"Oh yeah!" His blue eyes got wide and excited. "Come on up here then!"

I smiled and walked up to the top of the stairs. He put his hand on the door, leaning towards me.

"Alright now! Tell me!"

He smiled and leaned down, our noses nearly brushing, till his lips were barely brushing my ear. Chills ran down my spine as I felt his hot breath on my cold skin. He parted his mouth and tenderly whispered:

"Moriarty is Alive."

And darkness followed.


	4. The Consulting Criminal

I slowly began to wake up. My head was pounding, and my sinuses were killing me. I parted my eyelids as much as I could. They felt heavy and I felt all around weak. I tried to move my arms but suddenly learned my wrists were tied together. I began to panic, realizing my ankles were tied to the chair I was sitting in. My heart sank when the numbness in my throat wore off and I found that my mouth was taped shut.

I began to scream (or at least make the loudest possible noise with my mouth shut) and tears rolled down my cheeks. How did this happen? I came to London to escape danger, not be in it within the first 24 hours of landing. What was going to happen to me? Did anyone know I was missing? Should I be expecting help? Or should I expect this to be the last moment of my life?

Just then I heard a door opening, then a light clicked on. I was temporarily blinded by the brightness and shut my eyes.

A man's voice broke the silence. "Oh dear me, this is not at all necessary. Boys!"

I then heard a shuffling of feet enter the room.

"Why is she all tied up?"

A more familiar voice spoke out. "She was definitely a fighter. Kept squirming about. The gas mask took longer than planned to take effect, so we tied her up to make things a little easier."

The first voice began speaking again. "Well I doubt she can do much now, so why don't you untie her and take that tape off her mouth?"

I heard the footsteps of two people walk towards me. One untied my wrists while the other untied my ankles. Then one of them ripped the tape off my mouth. I winced, feeling skin from my lips being ripped away too. Tears welled up in my eyes. Somehow though the tears were helping me to see better, as if they were washing away the haze that poisoned my site. I was literally crying the drug effects away.

"There! Much better! Don't you think, Azalea?"

I tried to look up but my vision was still a little blurry. I could see the shape of a man leaning on the wall across from me. I still couldn't see well enough to figure out the small details, but from what I could see he was a shorter man with dark hair and wearing what appeared to be a suit.

"Oh, it seems as though the little flower doesn't want to answer. What if I call you by your real name, Miss Evee?"

My body tensed up at the sound of my true identity on his lips. It must have been visible.

"Ah. That's much better. So tell me, how was your flight in?"

I didn't respond. I focused on the wooden floor, trying to fix my eyesight.

"Okay then, so do you like London so far?"

I could hear the slightest bit of sarcasm in his voice. I clenched my jaw, not saying a word.

"What about your flat? Is it nice a cozy?

I remained silent.

"You're not very fun, are you?" The man sighed. I could hear him shifting his weight.

"How about your mum? How is she handling two small children on her own?"

I whimpered and looked up. I could now see enough facial details to know who I was dealing with.

_Moriarty._

"Hellooo!" He smiled and gave me a little wave. I didn't know what to do. I felt defeated. I could barely move. Even lifting my head to meet his eyes took every ounce of energy I had. I swore I could feel my brain literally throbbing against my skull.

"Well, since you don't seem to be in the mood for conversation, I'll do all the talking. Is that alright with you?"

I didn't move.

"Of course you are! Alright, where do I even start? How about the very beginning. According to your search history on your tablet, you should already know that I am a 'genius criminal mastermind'. But really, I just get bored and lonely. To fix this, I come up with neat little games to play. And for a while, I had a great game going on with the all-too-exciting Sherlock Holmes.

"But I soon learned that I was more clever than even the worlds' only consulting detective. This of course was a major ego boost for me, so I decided to reward myself by convincing the most intelligent human being on this planet to lie to his friends, say he was a fraud, and kill himself in front of the only man who has ever believed in him!"

Moriarty's voice had grown louder and stronger. He was practically yelling by the end of his sentence. My fingers and toes were slowly gaining back feeling, as if the powerful numbness was retreating from my limbs.

The mad man continued on. "Since I assumed this would be the highlight of my career, I decided to allow this act to be my 'grand finale' and slip away into a comfortable retirement. So, as you know by your research, I committed suicide and disappeared from the face of the planet.

"Or at least, that's how it was supposed to go. And for the first few months, my life after death was quite pleasant. I was no longer on any hit-lists, I could travel the world under any identity I wanted, I could spend money that wasn't mine, life was great! Until, under some unfortunate circumstances, someone found out my true identity, and was set on calling me out for the world to know I was still alive.

"He knew I would come after him, so he moved down south to a small town in western North Carolina and got a job as a janitor at a small community college. He only got to work for about week though. Got shot on the job. He obviously wasn't a very good school janitor. He didn't even know where the exits were located."

Moriarty looked at me out of the corner of his eyes. My heart was in my stomach. I was now hearing the other side of the story I was all too familiar with.

"Which brings me to why you are here. You see Evee, that man that just so happened to accidently run into your classroom instead of to an exit door was the ONLY man on Earth who knew I was still alive. Even my Russian hit man that YOU murdered didn't know why he was to kill this man. And then, in his final moments, the nosey little scoundrel threw you a note. A note containing just three words. Three little words that could bring down all I was working towards. And what do you do? You tell the police, your friends, your family, and every counselor and therapist you came in contact with.

"You were one of only two people that knew the truth about the worlds' only consulting criminal being alive and well. And now, everyone knows. Because I mean, come on! Why would someone hire a professional and very expensive hit man to shoot up a school over a piece of information that wasn't true? That is just silly don't you think?!"

Moriarty's tone changed between sad, angry, excited, and that of a teenager girls. It was as if multiple personalities were telling the same story in the same body

"So now we're here. You are told to come to London because the hit man may have had a few friends that want you dead when the truth is you were brought here because the British government knows what I am capable of and believes you'll be safe here yet here you are captured not even five minutes away from your flat in the same day you landed on British soil and I," he paused to catch his breath, "I am here stuck with some stupid American girl who has ruined what was supposed to be the best time of my life."

I could now lift my head with a lot more ease. I looked at Moriarty. He was nearly shaking with emotion. He acted extremely upset by all this, yet I got the feeling he was enjoying every second. Like he was happy he got caught.

It looked as though he were about to continue on, but was interrupted by they sound of footsteps coming down the hall. A familiar face popped in the doorway. Rupert.

"The cops are on their way here. Eddie just heard it on the scanner. They'll be here soon."

Moriarty rolled his eyes. "Why does someone always have to ruin all the fun?" He sighed heavily and walked to the door.

"Wait, what about her? Should we kill her?"

I gasped and stared at them wide eyed.

"Heavens no! She might come in handy later on. Just leave her there's not much she can do."

Suddenly the sound of sirens in the distance broke through. Moriarty smiled like a giddy child.

"Uncle Jim is back in business, baby!"

And with that they were gone.

The police arrived not long after Moriarty left. John was the first one to find me, followed by who I later learned was detective Lestrade. I rode in an ambulance to the hospital, where they pumped with fluids in hopes to reduce the effects of the gas mask. From what I could tell I was drugged by a chemical they described as "chloroform on steroids."

After I was declared I was mentally stable and healthy enough to talk, Lestrade began questioning me. John came in and listened as well. Lestrade told him to leave but I asked if he could stay. He was the only person I knew I could trust at this point. I told them the whole story, beginning to end. Lestrade seemed uneasy, but took in every word and wrote down a few important points. John stood in the corner quietly, never once moving or making a sound. He just stared at the floor. Afterwards they thanked me for my time and told me to get some rest.

I surprisingly slept very well, only waking up when a nurse came to check on me. One time though it wasn't a nurse. It was John. I could tell by the sound of his limp and a cane touching the ground in rhythm. I knew he didn't want to disturb me, so I pretended to be asleep. He sat in the chair next to the window and sighed. Not even ten minutes later Lestrade walked in.

"I figured I'd find you in here." He spoke in his quietest voice possible.

"I just don't want to leave her alone. Not again at least."

I could hear Lestrade walk over and sit in the chair nearest John. "You do know it's not your fault."

"Yes well it may not be my fault but if I wouldn't have left a young girl alone in a place she has never been to before this wouldn't have happened."

"Yes but if I would have told you sooner then you wouldn't have left her. And if she wouldn't have wandered off it would never have happened. You see? There's so much that could have prevented this. But it happened, and we can't change that."

There was a short pause before John spoke up. "You do realize where she was, right?"

"Of course I do. She was in the same room we found the pink lady in. 'Rache' was still carved into the floorboards and everything. I wonder if it means anything."

"I'm not really sure." Another pause. "How did you guys know where she was anyways?"

"Ah yes. Apparently a homeless man saw them drag her into the first house, heard her screaming, then followed the van that took her to the building where we found her. He called in as an anonymous tip."

"Wow. That's quite lucky."

"Mhmm." More awkward silence. "Well, I guess I better head back down to the station. I've got a bit of paperwork to do. Don't up too late Mr. Watson." And with that Lestrade left.

After a few minutes of quiet, John began talking to himself.

"Why? Why is it that he is alive while you are still dead? Why?" He shifted his weight some before continuing.

"Sherlock, just please don't tell me you died for nothing."

I fell back asleep to the sound of the doctor sobbing into his hands.


	5. The Yellow Smiley

**Hi guys!**  
**Hope y'all are enjoying the story so far!**  
**Just wanted to point something out: I do basically all my writing between the hours of 1 and 4am before I go to bed. SO I do realize I probably have lots of little grammar errors. I promise I'm not this bad at writing!**

* * *

The next few days were all the same. I came home from the hospital the morning after the incident, and for the following week I spent most of my time in John's flat. I didn't like being alone, and I could tell John needed some company. There was never a night I didn't sleep on John's couch. And he didn't seem to mind. In fact, I think he preferred it. I knew he still blamed himself for what happened, and he didn't want me far out of his sight.

About two weeks after my encounter with Moriarty things seemed to calm down. John and Lestrade were more relaxed, and even I wasn't afraid to go outside alone, though I preferred company. My landlady (whom I learned was called Mrs. Hudson) took me shopping every few days. We would buy groceries to keep John's fridge stocked, warmer clothes for me since I was not prepared for this weather, and some days we just window shopped and strolled around the busy London streets.

One day about mid-October John got a call to meet Lestrade down at the station immediately. He believed he had a Moriarty-related case. Mrs. Hudson wasn't home, so John told me to I had no choice but to join him. I let him know numerous times that I was fine and could be left at home, but truthfully I was very excited to tag along. I had always found criminal investigations interesting, and now I got to see one up close.

Lestrade at first was a little hesitant about me being there, but after some convincing done on both mine and John's part he let me stay. He explained there was girl about my age missing about twenty minutes away.

"The girl's mum says they got in a fight and the daughter went to her room. After a few hours she went to the girl's room to bring her dinner, but when she opened her bedroom door the window was open and the girl was nowhere to be found. The mother believes she got angry and ran away, but fears something happened to her because she never returned that night. She's been gone now for almost two days."

John spoke up. "Right. So what makes this a Moriarty related case?"

"Well the mother said she went to the train tracks near her house to see if the girl was there. She said there is an abandoned train car right off the tracks that the daughter sometimes hung out in with friends. There was no sign of the girl, but when police checked it out, they found this inside the car."

Lestrade handed John his phone. On it was a picture of the inside the train car. A yellow smiley face was spray painted on the wall with seven bullet dents in it. I recognized it right away. I stared at it every night before going to sleep. It was an exact replica of the smiley face Sherlock painted (and apparently shot at one day when he was bored) on the wall in his flat.

John stared at the picture a little longer before speaking. "Alright so what do we do?"

"Well I've arranged for us to examine the girl's house to see if we can find anything, then visit the abandoned rail car, and after that well, I'm not sure what we'll do."

"Alright then let's go."

When we got to the house the mother let us in. She was short and squatty, and very shakily offered us tea. Lestrade kindly declined and sat her down to talk. Throughout her story, I noticed she kept staring at me. John must have noticed; he told me we should go "investigate" her room. I followed him down the hallway to the girl's room. On the door in purple letters it read "Stephanie".

Before going in John turned to me. "Sorry about all that. I didn't think it through. The woman just lost her twenty year old daughter, and what do we do? Bring a twenty year old girl to investigate."

I looked down. I hadn't really thought about it either. I imagined what my own mom would be like in this situation. The images of her in my mind hurt me, so I shook them off and followed John into Stephanie's room.

The room looked like an ad out of a magazine. It was perfect. The bed was made, the carpet was spotless, the light pink and lilac walls had white frames lining them, everything was perfect. We walked in and started looking around, though there wasn't a whole lot to pick through.

I started with the pictures on the walls. Some of the pictures were of her and her friends, some were of animals and nature, but most of them were of her and her mother. I walked around the room, taking in every detail, hoping some sort of magical clue would jump out at me so I could help this poor girl. But the place was pristine.

I made my way over to her desk and gasped at what I found. There was a whole station dedicated to doing nails. I was obsessed with nail art, and was quite jealous at such a grand display of nail polishes, brushes, pens, clippers, etc. I bent forward, admiring all the different colors she had. Two of the prettiest colors were off the miniature display shelves, sitting on the desk. They were both beautiful shades of light pink.

I went to pick one up, but as I grabbed the top and began to lift, the bottle with paint fell and clattered on the glass table top. I scrambled and picked it up before anything spilled. John turned around and looked at me disapprovingly. I made a face and mouthed "sorry!" before turning back to the polish bottle. The top had obviously been off for a while, for the paint was thick and didn't spill out everywhere. Then I carefully grabbed the other bottle and found the top wasn't fully screwed on that one either. I furrowed my brow as I screwed the tops back on both and placed them in their respective spots in their display.

Lestrade and the mother then walked in. John and I stood up straight and walked over to them.

"Find anything?" Lestrade asked.

John shook his head. "Not at all. Your daughter is a very tidy one, isn't she?"

"Oh yes, very." The frail mother nodded. "I haven't touched the room since she went missing. This is how she always had it. She was very clean and very organized."

"She obviously loved doing nails." The group turned and stared at me, surprised I spoke up.

The lady smiled at me. "She was ALWAYS doing her nails. She was good at it too. Always looked like she had gotten a professional manicure. She did a better job than most salons around here. Her only problem was she hated long nails. She had a board on her at all times, constantly filing away."

"I definitely understand ma'am. My nails must always be filed and painted." She smiled and nodded at me. I could see tears welling up in her eyes. John was right about me being here; I was only a painful reminder to this poor woman. We soon left.

But before we got into Lestrade's car, I couldn't help but feel as though we missed something.

"Something's not right." They both turned and looked at me.

John spoke out. "What are you talking about Azalea?"

It took me a second to be able to talk. "The finger nail polishes. Something was wrong."

"What is it you're going about?" Lestrade seemed a little testy. John stared and listened.

"The nail polishes! You saw that room, it was in absolute perfect order. But two of the nail polish bottles were left out on the desk."

"So? Maybe she wasn't OCD enough to care about two little bottles."

"But they weren't just 'left out'. They were open! The tops were unscrewed!"

"Oh my God Azalea where are you going with this?"

"The other day Mrs. Hudson took me out shopping. We went to a fancy salon to see the hair products. While I was there I looked at the nail colors. The best polishes are the top brands that you can't just find in any drug store. What Stephanie had on her desk was the most expensive brand possible. You do NOT just leave the tops off of nail polishes for ANY extended period of time. The paint gets thick and ruins the whole bottle! Any girl who loves nails as much as Stephanie does knows that! I mean, just the fact her mom said she's constantly filing. . ." I trailed off as a new realization crept into my mind.

"Azalea? What is it?"

I didn't know what I was doing. I wasn't even positive I was right. But at that moment I ran back towards the house. Lestrade and John followed, calling out after me. I ran around the house, through the yard to where Stephanie's room's window was. I started looking in the small shrubbery, pushing aside a leaky ground sprinkler and hose. Lestrade got to me first.

"Azalea stop what are you doing?!"

That's when I saw it. There, under a small shrub, was a bent and broken nail file. I carefully picked it up with the tips of my fingers. John then ran up and joined us.

"What is it?" He breathed out heavily.

"It's an emery board. There wasn't one on her desk, yet she's always filing her nails."

Lestrade grabbed the board from me. "What does this mean?"

I sighed. "I don't think Stephanie ran away. I think she went to her room after an argument with her mom, started doing her nails to relax herself, then I think someone came in through her open window and grabbed her. And by the looks of that file, she tried to fight back and stab them with it, though it didn't seem to do much."

"Are you saying what I think you're saying?" I looked up at John as he spoke.

I nodded. "I don't Stephanie ran away. I think she was kidnapped."

* * *

After finding the nail board we made our way to the train car. A few of the investigators from the firm were already there, including a man named Anderson. He didn't seem too thrilled having me there on the scene. At one point he said to John, "Who is she? Why is she even here?" To that John looked him dead in the eye and responded as firmly as possible, "She's with me." I smiled, happy to know I was safe under the army doctor's wing.

We didn't find much at the rail car. We only found one set of footprints, and they were much too large to belong to a twenty-year-old girl. I didn't say it out loud, but I believed they were the footprints of the kidnapper. Or worse yet, of Moriarty himself. We then left the tracks and I was dropped off at my apartment. John stayed with Lestrade and headed back to the office. I walked up to John's flat and found Mrs. Hudson making tea and sandwiches.

We talked briefly about our days, and I described everything that happened at Stephanie's house. Mrs. Hudson listened intently, and told me how impressed she was that I recognized a kidnapping just from nail polish bottles. She told me I had the potential to become a detective or private investigator. Whether or not she was just saying that to be nice, I took it to heart and thanked her for the kind words.

Once dinner was about ready, I decided to go down to my flat and change into comfier clothes. I smiled the whole way down the stairs. Although a young girl was still missing, I was quite proud of myself for being able to solve a portion of this new mystery. I couldn't stop thinking about how well it all played out. I got down to my room, turned on the light, and gasped.

Next to my drawers was a homeless man going through my things. I screamed as he froze, looking around for a place to go. I didn't even think; I grabbed my pepper spray John bought for me out of my coat pocket and walked up and sprayed the man in the face. He doubled over and yelled out. I kept spraying, fearing it was Moriarty.

"Wait stop I can explain! Stop, please!"

At this point I didn't trust anyone. I wanted this man down and out. He blindly ran forward towards the door. I yelped out and kicked him as hard as I could in the crotch. He fell to the ground, moaning, holding himself. I clung to the pepper spray and walked so I was standing over his head. From all his squirming about his hood had fallen back and I could now see his face. I stared hard, realizing this was a familiar face. A face that, though I had only seen it a few times online, I recognized almost instantly.

A feeling of disbelief rushed over me. My blood grew hot. My heart was pounding so hard it hurt. I had forgot to breath, and when I whispered the man's name, it barely left my tongue.

"_Sherlock."_


	6. The Doctor's Orders

I sat on the couch and watched Mrs. Hudson pace the living room. Sherlock sat in a recliner, pouting like a child. A few different times he tried to get up and either get food from the kitchen or tune his violin or snoop through John's belongings, but Mrs. Hudson forced him to stay sitting down. The poor woman had no idea what to do, and a few times I was afraid she was going to faint.

While she paced, going through interchanging spurts of happiness and anger, I caught myself staring at the consulting detective. He was allowed to wash out his eyes after I about emptied an entire can of pepper spray into them. While in the bathroom he wet his hair and washed all the homeless man dirt and grime off himself. Mrs. Hudson gave him a new change of clothes; apparently they were his own, and no one wanted to throw them out after he "died".

Now the homeless man that I found in my room was wearing a button up and slacks. He had long wavy hair that nearly touched his shoulders. It was greasy and messy, and from wetting it it looked slicked back. He had stubble covering his jawline and upper lip. His eyes were beady, nearly swollen shut from my attack. He sat hunched over, occasionally wiping his sniffling nose. He either had allergies or a cold. His fingernails were long and dirty, and his feet were about the same. He smelled like a terrible mixture of garbage and armpits. I could not believe this filthy scum of a man was supposed to be the world's most genius detective.

"Sherlock I don't even know what to say." Mrs. Hudson was now sitting down in a chair across from him. She dabbed her teary eyes with a handkerchief. "Of course I'm so glad to see you. Really, I am. But you don't understand the life you left behind. John and I could barely function after you, well you know. Especially poor John. You left him alone Sherlly! Do you even remotely understand how much you've hurt us?!"

"Yes Mrs. Hudson I do but you have to understand how much more hurt you would have been if I hadn't left!"

Mrs. Hudson began to speak but was cut off by the sound of the front door clicking open. We all fell silent. Sherlock looked down at his feet. The familiar rhythm of a limping man and a cane started up the stairs. John saw Mrs. Hudson first.

"Is everything okay? Why is it so quiet up here?" He looked up and saw the raggedy man in Sherlock's clothes then looked over at me. "Who is this and why is he wearing Sherlock's belongings?" Mrs. Hudson looked around hopeless, not knowing what to say.

Sherlock sighed and stood up, lifting his head to show his face. "Because, John, it's me. It's Sherlock. I'm not dead."

John stared wide eyed at the tall man. His breathing grew heavy. "No. You are not…him. You aren't."

"Yes John it's me."

"Nope. No, it's not. This is not okay. He is dead."

"No he isn't he is alive and he is standing right in front of yo-"

Sherlock didn't have a chance to finish his sentence. John punched him in the face so hard it knocked him out.

For the next few minutes Sherlock lay on the ground while John yelled out as loud as possible. He cursed at who was now an unconscious yet very much alive old friend. Mrs. Hudson begged him to calm down with tears in her eyes. I sat back in the corner of the couch, scared of this new side of John. I had never seen one person so angry in my entire life.

"You are dead! DEAD! This here on my floor is a worthless piece of shit. This is not real. This is NOT OKAY." At this point he was spitting, nearly foaming at the mouth. Tears were welling in his eyes. His face was red, and from just a couple seconds of yelling his voice was scratchy. Sweat dripped down his face and soaked through his clothes. He was out of breath, and he could barely stand. It was then that I realized his limp was not at all visible.

"John please! Stop this!" Mrs. Hudson pleaded through her tears.

"No no no no NO! This isn't real. This is not really happening. Sherlock Holmes is DEAD."

At this point Sherlock was moaning and starting to come to. He touched the spot on his jawline right next to his chin where John hit him. It was cut open slightly and already swelling up. He got up off the ground and sat back in his chair. John walked angrily back over to him. Mrs. Hudson screamed out. John raised his fist, prepared to crush Sherlock's skull. Sherlock squeezed his eyes shut, awaiting the blow.

"STOP!"

They all turned and looked over at me. I had tears in my eyes as well. I couldn't take it. I couldn't handle any more.

"Please, John, stop it. Just stop all of this. Please." I begged John with my eyes. He stared deep into them, slowly realizing that he wasn't alone. He lowered his fist and looked around. Mrs. Hudson stood defeated in a corner, muffling her sobs with her hand. He stood silent for a moment, then slowly turned and grabbed his coat, heading for the door.

"John."

John turned around and stared at the shell of a man who used to be his best friend. He spoke softly to his old partner.

"No. At this point I would rather you be dead than alive. So why don't you do us all a favor Sherlock and go kill yourself. For real this time."

And with that John was gone.

The rest of the night was quiet. Mrs. Hudson tended to Sherlock's wounds, explaining to him that John didn't mean what he said, he was just angry. Sherlock stayed silent, only once speaking to tell Mrs. Hudson thank you. She retired off to bed quickly after that.

I remained on my spot on the couch. Though I was tired from such a long day, I didn't want to sleep in fear of Sherlock actually killing himself while I was passed out. But around one in the morning I began to doze off. Finally after fighting my heavy eyelids for nearly half an hour I gave in and fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.


	7. The Empty Pool

The next few days were some of the most hectic, most stressful days possible. Everyone began finding out about Sherlock's miraculous return. The reactions were always either extremely happy or extremely pissed. All though were extremely shocked.

Though I understood why most people would be a bit angry with the consulting detective, I did feel quite a bit sorry for him. It wasn't like he went on vacation. He had to leave everyone he knew behind, allow them to believe he was a fraud, and watched as they continued on their lives without him. So coming home to a not-so-welcoming group of coworkers and friends made my heart ache for the man.

I personally didn't see him really for nearly a week. He was living in a spare room at the hospital mortician Molly Hooper's place. He and John rarely talked, and when they did it wasn't much talking, more or less it was John yelling or being a sarcastic ass. John tried to focus completely on the Moriarty case, but it didn't work.

The next time I did see Sherlock he was back over at our apartment. He was in the living room sitting in a kitchen chair facing the window while Mrs. Hudson stood behind him, cutting his hair. Mrs. Hudson heard me come up the stairs from grocery shopping.

"Hello there darling! Thank you for getting some groceries. I'm just giving Sherlly a little trim. Just don't tell John he was over alright?"

I chuckled a little. "Oh don't worry, I won't. I wouldn't want to deal with that." I walked to the kitchen and started putting the food in my bags away. I could faintly hear Mrs. Hudson and Sherlock talking. She had completely forgiven him almost immediately, and from what I could tell they picked up right back where they left off in their friendship. It made me happy to know Sherlock had at least one person he could rely on during this trying time.

I heard her finishing up his hair cut. "Alright now I bought you a new razor. It's in the upstairs bathroom. Go shower quickly and shave. Then maybe you won't look so scary!"

I smiled, thinking about how scared I truly was the night I found Sherlock the bum in my room. I put some tea on the stove and walked out to join Mrs. Hudson. She was sweeping up what looked like could be a large cat.

"Goodness did you shave him bald?"

She laughed at me. "No he just need all that mess chopped off! If it weren't face his eyes and cheekbones I wouldn't even recognize him!" She took the clipping and threw them away. I tried to picture his eyes and cheekbones, but the only images I could see in my mind were of him as a swollen hobo and the picture I found of him online wearing the deerstalker hat.

I took to the kitchen and brought down a cookie tin from one of the shelves. I opened it up and inhaled the strong scent of gingerbread. It was getting close to winter so gingerbread flavored everything was popping up in the stores. Mrs. Hudson walked over and grabbed one.

"Are these gingersnaps?"

I nodded as she took a bite. "Yep. Just bought them today."

"Mmm they're delicious! You know who is a huge gingersnap fan? Sherlock. Why don't you take him some along with a cup of tea? Just knock on the bathroom door and let him know you're leaving him a tray on his bed."

I agreed and made up a tray of cookies and tea, then very carefully walked up the stairs. I went to his room (or what used to be his room) and placed the tray at the foot of his bed. I looked around. The room was quite barren. All save for the many boxes stacked against the walls. I assumed they were Sherlock's belongings he had left behind that no one could bring themselves to throw out.

I then walked to bathroom door and knocked, listening for a response.

Instead I head the doorknob quiver then the door fly open, allowing hot steam to roll out.

"Yes?"

I looked up and, for a brief moment, forgot how to breathe. My mind went blank as I took in the scene in front of me.

Sherlock was wearing nothing but a towel loosely wrapped around his waist. His body glistened from being closed in the steamy room. Though his hair was still wet, it had dried just enough to create flawless bouncing curls. His face was now clean shaven, allowing me to see those cheekbones Mrs. Hudson had mentioned earlier. His eyes were the most beautiful shade of blue, and paired with his thick black hair made him one of the most astonishing human beings I had ever laid eyes on. And those lips, oh those lips, they were plump and wet from being in the shower. They were slightly parted, faintly showing his straight white teeth. His mouth was the perfect type of mouth for kissi-

"Uhm, can I help you?"

I quickly snapped back to reality, shaking my head a little to force any and all prior images out of my mind.

"I'm, erm, I'm sorry I just, I, I left cookies and tea on your bed. Sorry."

He looked at me confused. "You're sorry you left cookies on my bed?"

"No! I didn't! I mean I'm not! Oh my god, I am NOT sorry I left cookies on your bed! I was just coming up here to tell you I left cookies and tea at the foot of your bed! Geez!"

Sherlock furrowed his brow at me. "Ooookay then." He paused for a second, not breaking his stare. "What kind of cookies are they?"

"Gingersnap! They are gingersnap cookies which are your favorite."

He stared at me even more confused (and maybe a slight bit terrified). My eyes got wider, realizing how I sounded to him. Then I pivoted and began walking stiffly back down stairs. I sat on the couch and stared straight ahead. Mrs. Hudson yelled to me from the kitchen.

"Did you tell Sherlock you brought him cookies?"

"Yep."

"Did you tell them they were gingersnaps?"

"Yep."

"Good! He'll be so happy! I have really missed having that boy around."

"I can see why."

Oh I could definitely see why. I couldn't get the image of the half-naked man out of my mind. The way his piercing blue eyes stared right into mine, the way his hair bounced when he moved, causing droplets of water to run down those sculpted cheekbones, dripping over those luscious lips. And his body, oh his body. The way his lean muscles glistened in the light. He was leaning against the doorframe, his long arm holding him up. He had practically been hovering over me. Oh what if his arm had given way, causing him to fall on top of me. That solid torso of his pressing down on me, his arms holding him up on either side of me, his eyes gazing into mine, our noses barely brushing, our lips…

"Oh. My. Gawd. What the FUCK is wrong with me."

"Did you say something dearie? I couldn't hear you."

"No Mrs. Hudson I was just talking to myself!"

"It's alright dear! The boys talk to themselves all the time!"

"What do we do all the time?" I looked up to see Sherlock walking into the room, holding the cup of tea in one hand and a gingersnap in the other. He was wearing dark pants and a satin purple button up shirt. He walked into the kitchen.

"Oh there's the Sherlly I know and love!" I could faintly see Mrs. Hudson shake her fingers through Sherlock's hair. He smiled as she chuckled excitedly.

_His smile._

These next few months were going to be very long indeed.

* * *

It was a cold Thursday morning when I was awakened by a knock at the door. Even though I heard John rush down the stairs to answer it, I quickly got up from my spot on the couch and went into the kitchen. I didn't like to be seen first thing in the morning, and I figured others might view me sleeping on a 35-year-old man's couch as "suspicious", though I honestly did see him more as my protective big brother.

I heard Lestrade's voice come in through the doorway. I grabbed a cup and filled it with coffee John had made. I quietly stirred in cream and sugar, attempting to eavesdrop on their conversation. From what I could hear another girl had been kidnapped, and though they didn't find any clues relating the abduction to Moriarty, Lestrade decided to thoroughly investigate just in case. He told John to come with him in the police car.

"You go on. I'll catch a cab. Just text me the address." Lestrade didn't argue. The door clicked shut and for a few seconds there was silence before John spoke up again.

"Can you be ready in five minutes?"

I smiled from the other side of the wall I was leaned againt. "Of course I can be." I ran around the corner, nearly knocking John over, and ran down the stairs to my room. I changed into jeans and a sweatshirt, pulled my hair up, and put on a hat. Then I ran back upstairs, brushed my teeth, and placed myself next to John.

He looked at his watch. "Wow. Exactly five minutes. I'm impressed." He smiled at me and motioned to the door. I smiled back and headed down the stairs.

In the cab ride along the way, John got the text from Lestrade on where to go.

"You've got to be shitting me." He snapped his phone closed and forcefully put it back in his pocket.

"What's wrong?"

He glanced at me and sighed. "The girl was taken at the pool."

I waited for him to go on but he didn't. "Okay then, what does that mean?"

He looked down. "Let's just say I don't have very fond memories of the pool." He didn't say anything else, and I decided not to ask any more about it.

When we arrived I recognized one of the people walking in the building as Anderson. Other than that there were only two police cars out front. We walked up the steps and met Lestrade at the door. He looked between me and John.

"I'm not going to have to start paying her am I?" I laughed at the detective. I could tell he was starting to soften up to me.

"So what do we have?" John seemed very put off by being at this location. It made me curious as to what he hated so much about this pool. Lestrade lead us inside, talking along the way.

"22-year-old Jane Watts comes to swim laps here for an hour every week day around eight in the morning. This morning though after she was done swimming she was taken. The only reason we know this is because a garbage truck worker saw her being dragged unconscious to a black car in the alley behind the building. He took out his phone and snapped a few photos before the car drove off. The photos are being blown up and printed as we speak."

We walked through a door and the familiar scent of chlorine washed over us. I inhaled deeply, the smell bringing back high school memories.

John looked around uneasily. I could tell by the way he kept shifting his weight that he didn't want to be here. "Alright so what makes you think this could possibly be a Moriarty related case?"

"Well there's really nothing telling us Moriarty is involved, but it is another young girl within the same age range as the first missing girl and both went missing exactly two weeks apart. So I'm just going to act as if they are related just in case Moriarty is involved. Ah, Anderson! Perfect!"

I turned to see Anderson walking towards us. He handed Lestrade a small stack of pictures.

"My guys are still searching for any traces of blood or anything else peculiar. So far no luck."

"Thank you Anderson." Lestrade looked down at the photos. John and I moved closer to see. My throat got tight, seeing a girl nearly as young as me being dragged like a ragdoll into a stranger's car. I felt sick to my stomach.

"We checked the garbage man's phone to see exactly when these were taken. It was 8:57."

John spoke. "I thought you said she always swam for an hour?"

Lestrade shrugged. "She must have got out early and he took her right away." He passed a few of the pictures to John. After briefly glancing over them he would then pass them to me. In my hands now was a close up of the girl. She was in sweats and a sweatshirt. I smiled slightly at the typical swimmer look of no makeup and her hair in a bun messily placed right on top of her head.

Something didn't fit though. Something was not-so-typical about this shot.

"Her hair."

Lestrade looked over. "Her hair?"

"Her hair. It's not wet."

John also looked at the picture in my hands. "Maybe she was wearing a swim cap?"

"Well that's exactly it. Any girl with long hair like hers would always wear a swim cap. But even with a cap, the edges of the hair still get dampened at least a little. She didn't wear a cap though. There would be a red imprint on her forehead. Those things are tight, and the indents are very noticeable. Same with the goggle marks which, from what I can see, she doesn't have any of those either. When you're an avid swimmer, you always wear goggles, which leave ugly suctioned circles around your eyes. She has no goggle rings, no cap lines, and her hair is dry. She never touched the water."

I looked up. John and Lestrade were both staring at me.

Lestrade spoke up first. "How do you know all this?"

I shrugged. "I was on the school swim team from seventh to twelfth grade."

John grabbed the photo from me. "Okay so she didn't swim because she's lacking a cap and goggles. Where are they then?"

I thought for a second. "Probably in her swim bag along with a change of undergarments and towel."

"But there isn't a bag in this picture."

"Well she probably put it in a…" I trailed off, beginning to piece together what could have happened.

"In a what Azalea?"

I looked up at Lestrade. "Where are the locker rooms?"

We rushed through a door and into the women's locker room. Anderson and two of his men were already in there. They saw us and followed. I lead the pack, speed walking to the back.

John called out from behind me. "How do you know which one is hers?"

"I don't! But I remember that during swim season if you were one of the first people to practice you always got a locker towards the back. It's just human nature to want to be the farthest away from anyone when getting undressed in a public place." I stopped and looked around the back wall of lockers. "This is it." I walked down to the only locker with a lock on it. I went to grab it then stopped. The lock on it was unlocked. It all finally came together.

John made his way next to me. "Azalea what's wrong."

"She was taken before she even got into her locker."

"How do you know?"

"I think what happened was she came in, went to undo her lock, and somehow saw her abductor. He knocked her out before she could scream, but for some reason he needed to get into her locker. The reason she was taken almost an hour after arriving was because her kidnapper didn't know her combination. Look at the locker. It's bent up and beaten in, and where the lock is latched on is warped slightly. He must have waited till she came to and forced her to unlock it. She wasn't tied up or anything in the pictures, so this man must have come with no 'tools', so it's safe to assume after she opened the locker he knocked her back out somehow. He was a fool though, to damage a locker and leave it unlocked. He could have easily gotten away with it if he hadn't." I looked up and saw at least five sets of eyes on me.

"Anderson, remove the lock and baggie it to dust for fingerprints later." Anderson put on gloves and did as he was told. Afterwards the locker could now be opened. I went to reach for the handle, but hesitated. The last person to open it was a kidnapper and potential killer. It could have been Moriarty for all we know. What if they left something behind in the locker that could harm me?

Suddenly a hand covered mine and pulled it back away. "It's okay, I'll do it." John made his way around me. "Everyone stand back. Who knows what could be in this thing." Everyone shuffled around and watched intensely as the old army doctor slowly opened the locker. He looked inside and sighed.

"I think he wanted to be caught." He motioned for me and Lestrade to look. Inside was empty, but on the back wall of the locker was the familiar yellow smiley face with seven bullet-like dents in it. The shoulders of everyone in the room sank, realizing this was a job done by the infamous consulting criminal.

Lestrade sighed. "Alright Anderson, take a sample of this yellow paint and see if it matches the paint from the train car." He then looked at me and placed a hand on my shoulder. "Good work Azalea."

"I now see why you keep her around."

We all turned around to see Sherlock standing behind us, staring at me, smirking slightly.

* * *

**NOTE: After writing this chapter I found a picture of 221b's layout. Sherlock's room is actually through the kitchen and down a hall, not up any stairs. I'm too lazy to correct that scene, so just pretend stairs never happened.**

**Also if you want to know the layout here are two pictures I Google searched and found. I own neither of them.**


	8. The Lonely Grave

"Sherlock." My whisper was barely audible.

Anderson scoffed. "Oh geez who let him in?"

Sherlock slowly walked towards the group. "Ah, Anderson. It's been two years and you are still asking dumb questions. Old habits die hard I suppose."

"Sherlock what are you doing here." John spoke fast and with no emotion.

"Lestrade invited me to come back on the force whenever I was ready."

Everyone turned to Lestrade. He stood there wide eyed. "I didn't think he would be ready so fast."

"Oh Greg I'm always ready for a case." He then turned to me. "Though it looks as if someone has beat me to the punch."

I looked down, unsure of what to say. John leapt to my rescue.

"She has actually done a great job here. So we really don't need any help." I whipped my head around and looked at the army doctor. I understood why he was still upset, but I didn't want the lonely detective to think I was replacing him. No one could ever replace him. I stared at Sherlock. He stared back, then very peculiarly narrowed his eyes at me, almost in a confused way. I furrowed my brow and returned the look. What was he thinking about in that funny little mind of his?

Lestrade cleared his throat. "Should we be going now?"

"Yes. Lets." John nudged me slightly to leave with him. I broke my gaze with the consulting detective and watched the ground as I followed the small crowd out of the room. John Lestrade and I separated from the group and walked outside.

John was about to speak but Lestrade interrupted him. "I know what you're about to say and I know I should have talked to you about it first and I'm sorry. You do know though that you two will have to make up some day."

"No we don't. I could go the rest of my life never talking to him again and I would die happy."

"John-"

"No don't 'John' me, it's true. That man in there is still dead to me, and I wish for it to remain that way."

"John this is not the place for this. We need to head back to the office to finish up on some paperwork anyways so let's talk there."

John sighed. "Fine." He looked down and shook his head. He saw me out of the corner of his eye and turned to me. "And what are we going to do with you you brilliant little thing?"

I've always been one who wanted to be treated like an adult, but John made me feel like a child, and I honestly loved it. I smiled at him and shrugged. "I don't know. I don't care really. I'll go anywhere." Of course right as I said that I felt my stomach begin to rumble. I hadn't eaten at all, and was in dire need of food. But I knew I was dealing with professionals who I'm sure have gotten used to not always being able to eat. So I didn't mention it.

"Well hello there Sherlock." John and I looked up to see Sherlock walking up next to Lestrade.

"Hello there Lestrade. Azalea. John." John rolled his eyes at the mention of his name.

I smiled at the tall man. "Hello there." I was still having troubles looking him in the eye after the bathroom incident. I hated how, even when he wore slacks and a trench coat and scarf, I knew under all that was the body of a man sculpted perfectly to my liking.

John broke the silence. "Can we please go now? I hate this place and I want to leave."

"Ah yes, John and I have some not-so-fond memories of this building, don't we John?"

Lestrade looked up between them. "You do?"

"I don't want to talk about it-"

"Yes, John had bombs strapped to him and we were both nearly killed by Moriarty by the pool."

"Maybe we should have let him, at least I would have known you were dead for real."

"But you would have been dead too so what's the point in that?"

"Well I'd rather be dead than alive here next to you."

"Alright boys stop it right now. Goodness I feel like I'm babysitting! Now Azalea, are you coming with us to the station or are you going to catch a cab home?"

"I guess I'm going with you two back to the station. I don't have any money for a cab."

"She can come with me if she wants." We all looked up at Sherlock. "I'm headed back to our flat-"

"My flat." John interjected.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I'm going back to THE flat to visit Mrs. Hudson. At least she's happy to see me."

"You just want me to punch you again don't you?"

Sherlock ignored him and turned to me. "You coming?"

I looked between Sherlock and John. "Well, I am really hungry, and I'm sure I'd just be bored at the station anyways, so I see no harm in riding with him."

John sighed. "Alright. I'll see you later on then. I'll be home for dinner."

I smiled and nodded. "We'll wait for you to eat. Bye John." Sherlock and I walked to the street where he hailed a cab. We climbed in the back seat and the cab drove off. I looked out the window to see John watching us drive away.

I then looked over at the consulting detective. He was staring out his own window. The silhouette of his cheekbones and jawline with the dull sunlight brushing them softly made it hard not to stare. I could faintly see one of those sad blue eyes. His skin itself look grey and gloomy. How funny, I thought, that he and John were on complete opposite terms right now, yet they both had the same demeanor of sadness about them. It was as if both had clouds hovering them at all times, dampening their moods.

"Is there something on me?" Sherlock mumbled. It was then that I realized he could see my reflection in the window. He had caught me staring.

"No" was all I could manage to say, though there were so many things I wanted to say. So many questions were unanswered, and though it was none of my business, I did feel slightly caught in the middle and I wanted to know what I was dealing with. I had been nothing but nice and respectful for the nearly two months I had been there. Finally I gave in and decided to be bold, asking the question that had been on my mind since first hearing of it that morning.

"Sherlock, were you really gone for two years?"

The tall secluded man next took a few seconds to respond. "Yes" he said in a low raspy voice.

"Why."

At this he looked down away from the window, then up at me. "Because I had to."

We held eye contact, then I asked my next question. "The night you showed up at our flat, you told Mrs. Hudson she would have been more hurt if you hadn't left. When you said that, did you mean emotionally hurt or physically hurt?"

"Why should I talk to you about this?"

"Because it seems that I'm the only one who's willing to listen."

Sherlock began to argue back but he fell silent. He couldn't argue, because I was right. John wasn't willing to listen to a single word Sherlock had to say. And with everything going so smoothly with Mrs. Hudson why would he bring up such a dark past? He finally found the words to speak.

"I had to do what I did for the sake of others. It was either my fake life or their real lives." He lifted his head and looked at me. His eyes shifted, searching mine. I wanted to pull myself away from his gaze. I had no makeup on, my hair was a mess under my ball cap, and I was wearing an oversized sweatshirt and dirty jeans. I didn't like having such a perfectly put together man seeing me in such a "vulnerable" state. But for some reason, I trusted him. And I got the feeling he trusted me too.

Suddenly the car came to a stop; we had arrived home. It was at that moment I realized we had both been leaning towards each other, talking just low enough so only we could hear. We exited the cab and quickly made our way up the steps to the door. The wind had picked up, making it unbearably cold outside. We then walked inside and up the stairs to the closed flat door.

Sherlock reached for the doorknob, but I stopped him. "Sherlock wait." He stopped and turned to me. I walked up next to him and look up at his pale face. "I just wanted to say that I'm proud of what you did. I don't know the whole story, but it seems like you saved many lives the day you sacrificed your own. And, even though you didn't really die, you did end the life you knew and loved. And nothing will ever be the same. And you knew that from the beginning, that everything was going to change, and you still went through with it anyways. It just seems as though people aren't recognizing all you gave up for them. So, even though I wasn't in the picture from the start, I just want to say thank you for what you did."

I stood there, waiting for a response, but instead Sherlock looked completely taken aback. His mouth parted slightly and his jaw moved a little, as if searching for words to say. He blinked more than usual, and his whole body tensed up.

He inhaled, as if about to speak, but the door flew open, making us both jump. Mrs. Hudson stood there.

"I heard some talking outside the door but didn't know who it could have been! Come inside dearies, the fire is nice and hot! Come warm yourselves!"

We entered the flat, not speaking another word.

* * *

I helped Mrs. Hudson prepare dinner while Sherlock played violin. He played absolutely beautifully, though his music all had underlying tones of sadness about them. When dinner was nearly ready, Sherlock stopped playing and pulled Mrs. Hudson out of the kitchen for a private chat in the living room. I set the table quietly, trying to hear their conversation. I couldn't hear much, but I got the feeling Sherlock was asking Mrs. Hudson to let him stay for dinner and hope John acted civilly. I could tell Sherlock wanted to talk things out with John, and maybe a nice quiet dinner could help be the ice breaker. From the sound of it, Mrs. Hudson wasn't too fond of the idea, but she agreed, knowing they would have to talk at some point. And being somewhat of a motherly figure to the two boys, she wanted to be around in hopes that would force them to be not so aggressive.

Dinner had finished not two minutes before John got home. He walked tiredly up the stairs. His limp always got worse when he was exhausted. My body tensed, awaiting what was sure to be an explosive arrival. Sherlock placed himself in front of the fire. John then walked in and sighed unhappily.

"What are you doing here?"

It was quiet. Mrs. Hudson hid herself in the kitchen. I stayed in my seat in front of the bookcase, clutching a British flag pillow against my chest. Sherlock's eyes search the ground, unsure of what to say.

"I said, what are you doing-"

"He's with me, John." They both turned and looked at me, confused. "Er, what I mean is he's here because of me. I invited him. I'm sorry John." Even though this wasn't true, I figured John can only get so mad at a young girl trying to help someone out.

"Is that so? Well, that is fine. I'm just going to take my dinner with me to my room." John started towards the kitchen.

"John, wait." Sherlock stood up.

"Nope, I'm going to eat alone and that is final."

"John-"

"I said I am going to eat-"

"John stop it this instant! Just stop it!" John turned around to face Sherlock.

"Excuse me what did you just say to me?"

"I said stop. You will ignore me no longer John."

"Oh so now you're giving me orders? Fuck off Sherlock." John turned and started back to the kitchen. Sherlock swept up behind him in three long strides, put his hand on John's shoulder and turned him back around.

"Now you listen here. Do you think for any second that I wanted to do what I did? John the past two years have been a living hell. I had attend my own funeral, watch you mourn my death, then continue on living your life, all while I tried to make a life for myself with nothing. I was a dead man walking."

"Well maybe you should have thought of that before you committed." John shoved Sherlock's hand away, but Sherlock had had enough. He grabbed onto John's shoulders and slammed him against the wall. Mrs. Hudson let out a yelp and I stood up. John tried to fight back, but a freak amount of strength seeped through Sherlock's veins. He was not budging.

John tried to wiggle free. "Now you listen here-"

"No! You listen HERE!" Sherlock was now yelling as loud as possible, finger up in John's face. "Moriarty had three murder men prepared to kill you and Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade if I didn't cooperate and tell the world I was a fraud then die so I did the best I could alright?! I did the FUCKING best I FUCKING could! Then I had to watch the best friend I've ever had visit MY GRAVE and talk to me as if it were really me and guess what? I heard EVERY BLOODY WORD. After a few months I could no longer take it anymore. I stopped listening at my grave. Your words were too sad. I couldn't bear it anymore. I wanted to kill myself for real, but I found out Moriarty was still alive and I needed to protect you. I was unable to live, yet unable to die John.

"And then, then I was able to come back. I found an opportunity to reenter your life. But instead of being welcomed, I was rejected. I was rejected by my best and only friend. I have nowhere else to go John. You hate me. The man I've trusted and gave my life up for HATES me. I just don't know what to do anymore. I hate myself. I have nothing. I lost you John. I lost everything."

At this point we were all in tears. John stood against the wall. His face kept contorting, trying his best to hold it in.

"Sherlock. I was so alone." He was only able to whisper through his soft sobs.

"I know, John. So was I."

John could no longer take the pain on his heart. He gave in, falling into Sherlock. The tall detective embraced the short doctor.

"Sherlock I watched you die. I watched you fall. I found you dead on the sidewalk. I still have nightmares about it."

"I know John I know. I'll never do that to you again, I promise."


	9. The Fake Spinner

After John and Sherlock finally returned to being friends, life became more, "normal". Sherlock returned to his room in 221b and I returned to 221c. I wasn't afraid so much of being alone anymore, and to be honest my thin old bed downstairs was a lot more comfy than John's couch. John himself was still trying to get used to the fact it was possible for life to go back to the way things were before, but he did seem a lot happier. I liked the new John, and when he, Sherlock, Mrs. Hudson and myself all spent time together it was happy and joyful, not solemn and quiet like before.

That is, until two weeks later Lestrade came by to inform us of a new kidnapping.

"Another girl, age 21, disappeared last night. Her mother called in this morning, saying the girl didn't come home after a late afternoon workout. She waited for her all night, calling her daughter multiple times without getting any answer or response. We're on our way now to meet the mother down at the station."

"Alright Lestrade. We'll follow in a cab. Thank you." Sherlock downed his cup of tea quickly. "Alright John let's go."

John looked over at me. "Come on Azalea."

Sherlock turned to John and pointed at me. "She's coming?"

"Yes of course she's coming! She's joined me on the last two kidnappings and she figured them both out."

"Yes but now I'm here. You don't need her anymore."

I furrowed my brow. "I'm right here you know."

"He knows, he's just being an ass. She's coming Sherlock, whether you like it or not."

I smiled and followed John out the door. Sherlock followed behind me, grumbling under his breath. I laughed a little, knowing I could get under the infamous Sherlock Holmes' skin.

* * *

The mother of the girl was distraught. It was hard to understand her through her sobbing, and I could hear Sherlock's frustration with the woman through his heavy sighs.

John stepped in. "Ma'am if you could just start at the beginning and tell me everything you know."

The woman dabbed her eyes with a tissue. "Well, Delia woke up shortly after I did yesterday morning. She had an appointment to get a tattoo done, and as much as I wanted to go I had to work. From what I know, the appointment went well and the tattoo turned out great. She sent me a photo from her mobile around two-thirty. It did look wonderful, and I told her I approved. After I got home from work a bit after four, I took a nap on the couch. I woke up at about five-thirty and realized Delia wasn't home. I sent her a text, which she responded to, saying she was going to a six o' clock spinning class at the gym. After that I didn't hear from her again, and she never came home."

"Right." John turned to Lestrade. "Have you asked around the tattoo parlor and gym to see if anyone has seen her?"

"We have men at the tattoo parlor right now. So far they said nothing has been suspicious. They will be checking the gym next."

As the three boys began chatting about possible scenarios, I looked at the poor mom sitting in front of me, completely torn up about the disappearance of her daughter.

I decided to try and help her since I was unable to keep up with Sherlock's rambling. "We'll find Delia, don't worry Miss." She looked up at me and smiled. I looked down, unsure of what to say next. "So what did she get a tattoo of?"

The corners of her mouth turned up a little. "She got a vine wrapping around her leg with grapes on it. Would you like to see?"

"Sure!" The woman reached into her pocket and grabbed out her phone. She opened her messages and brought up the picture of the tattoo. It was definitely large and intricate, but very beautiful. The vine started between her big toe and second toe, wrapping around her ankle all the way up, ending on the side of her calf. The green vine itself was thin, but the deep purple grapes hanging from the vines were about the size of a fist. The whole piece was detailed and very beautiful.

"It was done in honor of her uncle, my brother Michael. He owned a vineyard and recently passed away from cancer. They were quite close, sharing the same interests. Especially photography."

My heart sank for the lady in front of me. Not only has her brother just recently died, but now her daughter was missing. I tried to keep her mind busy. "Was this her first tattoo?"

"Oh no, she had two others. One on her shoulder and one on her wrist. She loved tattoos, but she has always had a low tolerance for pain, so committing to getting one was a challenge for her. Still, she did her best to not whine. I always took good care of her though after getting a tattoo. I was really looking forward to having her home that night. She is a very independent woman, so taking care of her is a real treat for me. Especially with her leg out of commission! Ha!"

The two pieces snapped together in my mind. I wasted no time alerting the others.

"John. Outside. Now." I swiftly left the room with the doctor close behind me.

"Azalea what is it?"

"She never went to work out, John. She never went to spin class."

"How do you know this?"

"She just got a massive tattoo on her leg, John. He mother just showed me a picture of it and explained her low tolerance for pain. Now, I've been to a few spin classes myself and I know it is not an easy workout. It's not just cardio, it definitely works your legs as well. If you've just gotten a large and very painful leg tattoo, why would you go and do a workout that is hard on your legs? Plus you have to wear sneakers and put your foot into a holster to use the bike. Part of her tattoo is on her foot. I don't care who you are, you don't slip a fresh tattoo into a sock and shoe and start pedaling away."

"So you're saying kidnapper was the one who texted her mom about going to work out?"

"That's exactly what she's saying John." We both looked up and saw Sherlock walking towards us. "Come, we need to get to the gym."

"But didn't she just say the girl never went to the gym?"

"Yes but the first girl never went to that train car did she?"

John looked up at Sherlock. "Moriarty."

"Exactly now grab Lestrade and let's go."

After briefly explaining what was going on to Lestrade we piled into a police car and rushed to the gym. I went straight to the front desk and found a worker.

"Spinning. Where."

The man looked at me wide eyed and confused. "Uhm, turn right down this hall then it's in a room towards the end on the left."

"Thank you!" We ran down the hall. I lead the pack, looking into every room as I passed it, until I saw one dark room with a spinning schedule taped to the door. I opened the door slowly and walked into the dark room. I felt on the wall for a light switch, and when I felt it and flipped it on, I let out an audible whimper. On all of the wheels of the spin bikes, a yellow smiley was painted, complete with bullet hole dents.

"Oh God." John slowly walked in as he spoke. I could hear him counting under his breath. "There are twenty bikes. Every one of them is marked."

Lestrade sighed. "I'll call in Anderson and his team to see what they can do." He left the room and pulled out his phone.

John made his way back over to me in the doorway. He looked at the ground.

"John, what do you think he's doing with all these girls?"

John looked up at me. He was slightly shocked by my question, but I couldn't hold it in anymore.

"I, I don't know Azalea."

"You don't think he's-"

"Killing them? No." We looked up at Sherlock. "Moriarty may be evil, but he always has a purpose for his actions. He thinks about how things will end up in the long run, and what he can use to his advantage. Killing the girls without us knowing or finding the bodies would be useless. Dead people don't give him the upper hand."

Even though Sherlock seemed to show no emotion towards these missing girls, his words still gave me hope. He was right. Which meant there was still a chance to save them.

We could do nothing more at the scene, so John, Sherlock and I headed back to our flat for dinner.

* * *

Mrs. Hudson had made a delicious feast. On the table before me was a beef roast, mashed potatoes, some rolls, and an assorted mix of vegetables. When asked what the occasion was, she just explained that "we all went on our first assignment together," and that she also has been wanting to have a nice big dinner since the return of Sherlock. And though who didn't say anything, I could tell Sherlock appreciated the meal.

We ate the amazing dinner, and for dessert Mrs. Hudson made a Victoria sponge cake, which was delicious.

"This cake would be wonderful for a morning snack with coffee." I had always wanted to try a Victoria sponge cake, and I was not disappointed.

"Well help yourself dearie! I'm glad you like it. And it would be quite good with coffee, just as long as you wake up early enough to eat! It seems like Lestrade is coming over earlier and earlier with new cases. Which, of course, you could just take some along with you to munch on through the day."

"Will she be accompanying us on all our cases now?"

We all looked at Sherlock. He looked down at his tea, stirring it. The silence made him look up at us. "What? It's an honest question."

I tried to find the right words. "Well, I mean, I only join if I'm invited. The past few cases John has asked me to come along, so I went. If I were told to stay here, I would stay."

"Well that's good to hear. Next time, just stay."

"Sherlock!" Mrs. Hudson looked at him angrily.

"Mrs. Hudson I don't mean to sound brash, she said she'll stay if she's told to stay, so I'm just telling her next time to stay here."

"But what if I want her to go?" John had tried to keep his mouth shut, but he just couldn't.

"Why would you want her to go? Because you're afraid she'll run off and get herself kidnapped again?"

"Well yes actually. She doesn't even have to run off. Moriarty has taken her once, and by the looks of things he isn't afraid to take young girls. I would prefer having her with me. Besides, she's been quite helpful on most of these cases."

"Yes but that was before I returned. Now that I'm back I can provide much more use to you than she can."

"Sherlock stop it if I want her to go she goes."

"Why do you want her around so bad John she's just a typical American girl!"

"Please explain what you mean by that." I could remain silent no longer.

"Where do I even start…"

"Sherlock don't-"

"By the looks of the extreme whiteness between your fingers you fake tan, your nails are in perfect condition and have been for days so either they're fake too or you're always obsessing over being perfect, your teeth are perfectly straight and your clothes and jewelry are quite nice so you must come from money which you use to further make yourself appear better than everyone else-"

"Sherlock…"

"You are always wearing makeup no matter what, except for that one day at the pool and I'm assuming that's because it was so early and you're not used to being up early which means you probably didn't have a job back in the states or you didn't go to school but from watching your sleeping habits plus the way you breath heavily when you run I can tell you're a lazy one and that is VERY American indeed-"

"Sherlock!"

"And while on the subject of makeup you seem to always have fake eyelashes on for no reason even if we just go to the café next door you are wearing them and then there's your hair which I can tell is fake because for one the brightness of blonde does not match your eyebrows at all and for two whenever you scratch it or play with it the top of it moves as a whole which can only mean you wear a wig of some sorts and plus you can't even see your scalp which makes it painfully obvious how fake it is so your hair, your eyelashes, your nails, your tan, your teeth, your clothes, your excess application of makeup, and your added in over-the-top kindness just proves you are fake. A typical American female who does whatever she can to look better than everyone else, act better than everyone else, and be better than everyone else."

John broke the sudden silence. "Sherlock. What have you done."

"Why what do you mean?"

The consulting detective finally looked across at me. Tears streamed down my face, my hands shaking in rage, my breathing stammered and heavy. I slowly stood up from my seat and looked Sherlock in the eye, trying to speak through my closed throat and tight jaw.

"My tan is not fake. I spent most of my days back home laying out with no sunscreen on. Doing my nails is a hobby of mine, I like being artsy and trying new things with them. I was able to afford braces because my dad was in the military and his insurance covered it. I have nice clothes also because my dad brought in decent money, and even then I always shopped the clearance racks. Same with jewelry. I am not a morning person, and yes I do get out of breath easily, but that is not from pure laziness. I not only have a heart arrhythmia, but my air passages do not expand the way they're supposed to during exercise.

"And as for my makeup and hair," I reached up slowly pulled the fake eyelashes off my eyes, "I wear little to no face makeup, but I do wear darker eye makeup mainly to hide my fake lashes better. The reason behind the fake eyelashes is because I have none of my own due to the fact I have a disorder called Trichotillomania. It's when I unknowingly pull out my lashes and hair because of stress. Yes my hair is fake, but no it's not a wig. They are sew in extensions. I have a top piece on to cover the fact that the top of my head is almost totally bald because I pulled my hair out." I looked down. "I was always reassured by my family and friends that it looked real, and I believed them. Apparently they lied to me. Apparently I was wrong."

I turned and walked as fast as I could down the stairs to my room. Mrs. Hudson and John called after me, but I didn't respond. I didn't care. I wanted to be alone. I didn't want to be seen.

For the rest of the night I could hear John and Sherlock yelling and doors slamming in the flat above me. The sounds though were drowned out some by my sobs and screams into my pillow. I hated myself for what I did to my beautiful hair. I hated myself for caring so much about what others thought of me. I hated the fact I was so mentally unstable. I just hated myself.

I hated everything about myself.


	10. The Diminished Glow

Getting out of bed the next morning was not easy.

I couldn't stop thinking about the events of last night. I felt embarrassed and attacked. I didn't want to see any of them; especially not Sherlock. I was beginning to see why people weren't so fond of the consulting detective. Maybe I should never have thought so highly of him. I've always been one to give people the benefit of the doubt. I guess that was just another flaw of mine.

Around eleven thirty there was a knock on my door.

"Azalea it's me, John. I'm going next door to get some lunch. Do you want to come?"

Of course I wanted to go. I was starving and pitiful and self-loathing and cold. A sandwich and a large bowl of tomato soup sounded like Heaven at the moment. But I also felt weak. Whenever I cried (and I mean really cried it out) I always felt physically drained afterwards. So after a whole night of sobbing, I felt as if I couldn't even move. I was starting to feel upset again, knowing such a simple decision like going and getting food shouldn't be so hard. But my mind was the way it was, which meant such easy decisions were very hard for me and wore down on my mind.

"I don't know John. I'm not feeling very good."

"Well I'm not forcing you to go. If you get hungry you can always just go upstairs and make yourself something. But I think you would like to go to the café."

He was right. I would love to go to the café. But I couldn't physically do it. And working up the effort to get up and mentally prepping myself to leave my safe little spot would take too long, and I didn't want John waiting for me.

"I'm fine John. Go on ahead. I'll eat sometime later."

"Alright then. If you say so." With that I heard him make his way back up the stairs and leave the flat.

I pulled the heavy blankets up around my chin and nose. The air was cold, and I felt a lot more protected under the covers. My mind began drifting back to the night before, but at this point I was too exhausted to care. I wanted to go back to sleep, but my growling stomach and parched throat made that nearly impossible.

Only ten minutes had passed before there were more knocks on my door.

I furrowed my brow. "Who is it?"

John's voice called through the door. "Special delivery!"

I smiled and stood up, wrapping my blankets around me and walking to the door. When I opened it John stood there, lifting a paper bag up for me to see. I happily breathed in the delicious scent of tomato soup wafting into my room.

"May I come in?"

I nodded and opened the door for him. He walked in and placed the bag on the table. He got out half a sandwich and a Styrofoam bowl of soup for me and then a different sandwich for himself. He also had to-go cups of water for us. I grabbed my food and walked over to my bed, sitting down and surrounding myself with blankets. I dipped my cheesy sandwich into the soup and took a bite. My insides melted. I felt automatically happy.

"Thank you so much John."

John smiled and nodded, his mouth full of food. We spent most of the time eating in silence. I was practically inhaling my meal, I had been so hungry. After a few minutes of chewing quietly, John spoke up.

"How are you feeling this morning?"

I shrugged, sipping water through my straw. "I'm feeling okay. I'm feeling a lot better now though.

John smiled. "Well that's definitely good." He sat quietly for a minute before talking again. "Azalea, I know you don't want you talk about it, and you don't have to, but I am just letting you know that I understand how you're feeling. I've been torn apart by Sherlock on numerous occasions, and it never feels good. I'm not going to ask you to forgive him, because he definitely did push it too far last night. I just want you to know that he wasn't trying to pick you out and bully you for any specific reason. He just does that. He does it to everyone he meets. It's like he can't help himself."

I looked down at my hands. Although it didn't make up for the fact Sherlock behaved the way he did, it was kind of nice knowing I wasn't alone. Especially if he had treated his best and only true friend the same way.

"Well, I do feel a little better hearing you say that. I was worried he just especially hated me for some reason."

John smiled some. "He doesn't hate you, I can tell you that. I know the people he hates, and you're not like any of them. So don't worry about that at all." He remained silent for another minute before asking me a new question. "Azalea, may I ask you something? And if I cross any lines, just let me know."

I looked up at John. I trusted this man more than anyone else right now. "Of course you can."

"Well, it's about your hair." I tensed up, my lighter mood fading rapidly. "When I was in the military, I saw lots of different mental disorders ranging from slight OCD to full blown Bipolarity. Especially in men who had witnessed unfortunate scenes in the battle field. I just wanted to let you know that I am always here if you need to talk. And, because I am a doctor, it is possible for me to get you any medications you may need. And-" he looked up at me and saw the tears welling in my eyes. "Oh Azalea no I didn't mean to-"

"No no John it's not your fault. No matter the tone, whenever someone brings up my hair problem I cry. Hell, I could have a full head of hair and eyelashes for days and beat this disorder and I would still cry. I can't help it. I promise John it's not your fault. I just have phases where it's worse than usual. And in that case I typically have my mom to hug me and tell me everything is going to be okay. But I don't have her right now and I just…" I trailed off. My instability from the night before plus my sadness from the reminder of my condition mixed with the reality that my mom wasn't there to hold me broke me down. I put my face in my hands and just let it out.

I heard John stand up. I was positive he thought I was absolutely crazy. I waited to hear the click of the door as he walked out of my room to give me time for myself. But I didn't. Instead I felt the edge of the bed next to me sink some. I looked up as the doctor put his arm around me, pulling me against him. I could feel his hesitancy in his actions, as if questioning the morality of what he was doing. But I needed this. I didn't care how "awkward" it could be perceived. I buried myself into John, letting the tears flow. I didn't hold back my sobbing anymore. It felt so unbelievably good to cry and know I had someone to hold me.

Apparently it felt too good. I ended up falling asleep in the doctor's arms.

* * *

When I woke up it was nearly four in the afternoon. I was in bed with the covers tucked neatly around me. I sat up and looked around. John had cleaned up all the food from lunch and even started a fire in my fireplace. Even though my room was now nice and warm, my body needed to get up and move around. I stood out of bed and stretched. It felt good to be up and moving. I decided to go ahead and make my way upstairs. I was now over the whole Sherlock situation, and figured I would have to leave my room sooner or later.

221b was hot compared to my basement. I heard some talking in the kitchen, and when I walked around the corner I found John and Mrs. Hudson having what seemed to be a funny conversation.

John saw me first. "There's our sleeping beauty!"

I smiled and crossed my arms. "Ha oh yes, I'm sure I'm looking marvelous right now." My hair was a mess, my nose was rubbed raw, and my eyes were puffy and swollen, but I didn't even care.

Mrs. Hudson walked over to me and grabbed my head, kissing my cheek. "Oh dearie you look fine! I'm just glad you're alive! I thought I may never see you again. Here, have a seat. I'll pour you some coffee and cut you a slice of that sponge cake." I sat down in my usual place at the table and looked around. I found that I couldn't stop smiling. It was just now starting to hit me that even all the way in London I had my own little family. I had Mrs. Hudson, who mothered me and watched over me, yet treated me like an adult and allowed me to make my own decisions. Then there was Lestrade who was starting to warm up to me. He was like an uncle who didn't have any responsibilities over me but still seemed to enjoy my company. He joked around with me in ways he didn't with anyone else at the office.

And then of course there was John. I had come to terms that I loved John. Not romantically, but in a whole different and deeper way. Though I had originally saw him as a father figure or older brother, I now realized that neither were the case. He was more like a guardian angel. My guardian angel. He was like an imaginary friend that actually lived and breathed. He was everything I needed in a human at this time in my life, and he provided me with a feeling of safety and security that could never be replaced. There was no doubt in my mind that I loved John for who he was to me, and I wasn't sure what I would do without him

We all spent the next hour or so talking about anything and everything. It was always lighthearted, and laughter was abundant. I was asked a lot of questions about America, which made me very happy. They especially enjoyed when I would talk about southern culture and what it was like to live in a "hick" town. I had totally forgotten about the prior night's events, and I was now in a high-like state of mind.

Until we heard the door open and Sherlock came in. We all looked up as he walked around the corner into the kitchen.

"Hello there Sherlly! Would you like to join us for some tea and cake?"

"Thank you for the offer Mrs. Hudson but no thanks. I actually was wondering if I could talk to Azalea for a moment in private."

The room got silent and I could feel the stares on my face. "Um, yeah, sure, that's fine with me." I stood up and followed Sherlock into the living area. He stood in front of one of the chairs next to the couch I used to call my bed, waiting for me to sit. I sat on the couch end farthest from him. I took deep breaths, making certain all my thoughts were in order. I didn't want to be caught off guard again by the consulting detective. He put his hands together in a sort of praying position in front of his mouth. He stared hard at the ground, taking a minute to think before speaking.

"Azalea, I just want to…apologize about last night." He paused. I could tell he was not used to this whole admitting-he-was-wrong thing. "I wasn't thinking. I just, I guess, I miss being John's only partner." I definitely wasn't expecting that. He continued on. "In my mind, I had this perfect scenario of my return. Anyone who mattered would welcome me back, I would go back to having John as my partner, and I would finally be…happy."

I looked at his eyes, surprised by his words. He was still staring hard at the ground, his voice low and patient. He kept talking. "When I first saw you Azalea interacting with John, I saw how comfortable you two were with each other only days after meeting. He was protective of you, and you two cared for each other. I guess it made me a little bit…I don't know…jealous."

"Jealous?"

"Yes. I wanted to be the one by John's side. I wanted to be the person who gave John company. I wanted John to be as happy about my presence as he was about yours. For two years I watched my only friend be lonely and indifferent to the world. And then you came along and changed that. I should have been happy for my partner, happy he was no longer alone. But instead I got jealous. I figured when I returned he would want me to accompany him instead of you. But he didn't. He still fought to have you around. I felt as though I was now in competition for John, so when I saw the opportunity to make you seem 'inferior' I took it. I wanted to diminish the glow about you that attracted John to you. I wanted you to feel low and unworthy."

I remained silent, shocked by the detective's words. At this point he was staring deep into my eyes.

"Azalea, what I said was wrong. I meant to hurt you. I wanted to punish you for making my friend happier than I could. When really I should have thanked you for what you did. You saved John. And honestly if it weren't for you, he would probably still think of me as dead. And if he didn't, he would still hate me and not be talking to me. When you thanked me in the hall outside my door for my sacrifice even though it wasn't for you personally, it made me realize how great of a person you were. You didn't have any flaws. My deduction of you at the dinner table was poorly done and desperate. I picked at things that mean nothing to me or anyone else. It was wrong of me. And I'm sorry."

I didn't know what to say. I was completely taken aback. "It's okay Sherlock. I promise. I understand your intentions now, and I don't blame you for missing the attention of your friend. I forgive you."

I looked up into the eyes of the mysterious man, awaiting an answer. Instead we locked eyes and stared. I couldn't help myself any longer. I allowed myself to get lost in those light blue eyes. There was some sort of connection, I could feel it, but I couldn't describe it even if I tried. It felt as though we were staring for hours, though I know it probably only lasted about thirty seconds. He held eye contact as he slowly stood up, walked over to me, and reached his hand out towards me, palm up. I didn't break his gaze as I put my hand in his. He lifted me up, helping me stand.

He parted his lips and spoke in a low, raspy voice. "Azalea, I am sorry for what I did to you. Thank you for what you've done for me." Before I could even respond, he let go of my hand and turned, walking through the kitchen to his room. I watched him as he walked, then noticed John leaning in the kitchen doorway, arms crossed and jaw dropped.

I walked over to John. "Well that was nice of Sherlock."

John gave me a dumbfounded look. "Azalea, I don't know who that was, but it wasn't Sherlock."

I furrowed my brow. "What do you mean?"

"That, over there, was not Sherlock. That was someone else. Sherlock doesn't just admit his feelings or show emotions. He also never thanks anyone for anything significant. He's selfish. And what I just saw was not selfish. That was…well I don't know what that was. That was weird, that's for sure. And he doesn't offer his hand out like that even to help people up. And Azalea?"

"What?"

"Did he at one point mention you had a glow about you or did I just imagine that?"

"No, he specifically said, 'I wanted to diminish the glow about you'."

The doctor looked confused. "I thought that's what he said."

"Why what does that mean?"

"Honestly I have no clue." John pursed his lips. "I think I'm going to go take a shower now. Help yourself to the rest of that cake if you'd like.

I didn't see Sherlock for the rest of the evening, but I did go to bed that night smiling because of him.


	11. The Performing Tragedy

After Sherlock's strange apology, there was peace in the Baker Street household. I decided to stay at home during a few cases to make Sherlock happy. But I also made it clear that any case involving Moriarty meant I was joining them. And, just like clockwork, two weeks after our tattooed spinner, another girl went missing.

"Kate Brevier, age nineteen, disappeared during a theatre rehearsal last night." We were walking through the office halls while Lestrade spoke. "She's a stage hand, moving set pieces and such. The rehearsal hadn't even started yet when she went missing. I have the person who saw her last waiting in my office. After a few simple Q's and A's we'll head on over to the theatre and check the place out."

I was in slight disbelief of what I had just heard, and also slightly excited. Back home I was part of my community theatre company, and it was the love of my life. My days revolved around memorizing lines, practicing dances, and working on facial expressions. We had lots of very talented people in our town, so I wasn't usually any lead roles. But I still enjoyed any part I was given. Theatre was my life. And I missed it more than anything.

We walked into Lestrade's office to see a young boy, probably about seventeen, sitting in one of the chairs. He stood as we walked in. He was a few inches taller than me, skinny, short dark hair, and his attire read "theatre geek". I smiled. His presence reminded me of home.

"Guys, this is Jeff. He was the last person to see Kate. Jeff?"

"Well, all I really saw was Kate talking outside in the parking lot on the phone. I was running extremely late due to car troubles so I didn't pay her much attention and just ran past. She gave me a small wave, but wasn't smiling or anything. I ran inside, quickly put on my mic and costume, then sat waiting in the green room for directors notes. He called on Kate to give her some reminders, but she wasn't there. I along with a few others mentioned that we had seen her. Our director was angry at first, having to find other people to do her jobs throughout the show. After curtain call though he called her parents and, after hearing they also had not seen or heard from her, he got worried. Apparently I was the last person to see her. That's all I know."

Lestrade turned to us. "That's all we know so far. Thank you Jeff, you may go now."

"Wait not yet." Everyone turned to me.

"Why?" Sherlock questioned my demand.

"Because, I want to ask him something."

Jeff looked at me, confused. "I…I don't know anything else. I've told you everything I know."

I smiled. "I know you have, but I still want to ask, how many dress rehearsals do you have before opening night?"

"Uhh, four?"

"And what dress rehearsal was last night's?"

"The last one."

"Alright. So what time do actors and tech crew have to arrive then be dressed and ready by?"

"Well actors are recommended to be there by six-thirty and tech crew by six-forty-five. Everyone needs to be dressed with makeup done, hair and wigs on, microphones in place, and in the green room ready to go by seven-ten."

I was smiling so big on the inside. That was the exact same schedule my company ran on. I forced myself to return my focus to Jeff. "So what time did you arrive?"

Jeff smiled and laughed a little. "I remember looking down at my car clock before flying inside. It said seven-o-three. I was so lucky our director didn't see me running so late."

"Yeah you are! So what was Kate wearing?"

Jeff's smile faded and furrowed his brow at me. "What?"

"Do you remember what Kate was wearing?"

He looked down, thinking hard. "Um, yeah, she was wearing jeans and a pink sweatshirt."

"So she wasn't in her blacks."

Jeff went silent, then lifted his head, eyes wide. "No. No, she wasn't!"

"Alright then. So that phone call had to have been important. Is it possible she was calling someone to bring her clothes?"

"No, I don't think so. All the stage hands and tech workers have cubbies in the sewing room where they leave their blacks and other belongings. Kate has been doing this for a while, so she knows how big of a deal the last dress rehearsal is. She would have been prepared."

I thought for a second, wondering what this could all mean. I continued asking questions, getting as much out of the boy before he left. "So what did she do mostly during the show?"

"Oh she did a little of everything. She's been with us for a while, sometimes even acting in the shows. She was mainly a stage hand though. During this show she worked some of the on-stage lighting, the fog machine, moving set pieces on and off, pulling the ropes to lift backdrops, and even helped with some of the rigging used to make our actors fly. Our director relies heavily on her. She does a lot."

I stared into the boy's eyes, his heart heavy with the disappearance of a friend. Theatre companies are usually pretty close, creating a "theatre family". Actors and stage hands alike rely on each other and watch out for the others. An occurrence like this is like missing a sibling.

I sighed. "I have no more questions."

Lestrade thanked Jeff for his time and closed the door behind him. Then he turned to me.

"Sooo…"

"Explanation?"

"Yes please."

I looked up at the three men. Two of them were watching me closely. Sherlock was turned, staring at a wall. I talked whether he was listening or not. "By the sound of it, Kate was a pro at her job at the theatre. It's very very very weird that she was in normal clothes only seven minutes before notes started. Anyone who works backstage is required to wear all black, all the way down to their shoes. She was definitely taken shortly after Jeff saw her, but something tells me something tells me the kidnapper contacted her before then. They had to draw her outside, away from everyone. And they had to have used a terrible threat or something of the sort to make her not even get changed and risk being late for the last rehearsal."

John and Lestrade processed what I had just told them. Lestrade spoke up. "I think we need to check out the theatre and see what we can find. I spoke with the director briefly on the phone earlier today. He's postponed the show to next weekend to train a new stage hand to replace Kate. He left a key to the building at the front desk for us."

We quickly made our way down to the front desk, grabbed the key and piled once again into Lestrade's car to the crime scene. The building seemed plain on the outside, but once inside we saw just how beautiful it was. The interiors were old fashioned yet had a royal feel to them. The auditorium itself was red and gold, and the stage was quite large. My heart was pounding. Oh what I would give to perform in such a grand place. We walked onto the stage and turned right.

Lestrade lead the way. "Alright the director said the sewing room were Kate's cubby is was through a door towards the back of the right wing."

I stopped. "Then it's back this way." They all turned and looked at me. Sherlock seemed to be forcing himself not to grin.

"What do you mean?" John was just as confused as Lestrade.

"That what we're walking towards is the left wing."

"But-"

"I know it's confusing, but stage directions are always done facing the audience, not the stage. We're walking stage left right now"

John and Lestrade looked at each other, then pivoted and followed me. I was now leading the way to the back of the wing, past the pulley systems, through the door. I then turned left into a door labeled as "Sewing Room". We looked around and made our way to the only cubbies in the room against the back wall. We looked hard and found one labeled "Kate B.". Inside was a pile of black clothes, a hair brush, bobby pins, and some makeup.

"Well Azalea was right. She never got changed." John reached up, pulled the pile of clothes out and separated them. There were a pair of black leggings, a thin black shirt, black socks, black sneakers, and thick black rigging gloves. Other than that, there were no other peculiar items.

While the doctor and detective investigator searched through the other cubbies, I looked down at her clothes. Suddenly something caught the corner of my eye. I knelt down and grabbed the gloves, turning them over. Very faintly on the palms were small specks of yellow paint. If they were to have been any other color I would never have noticed.

Sherlock squatted down across from me. I showed him the gloves. He looked at me while speaking. "John. Take a look at this."

John and Lestrade bent over us, examining the yellow paint on the gloves.

"Do you think it's the same paint?" Lestrade grabbed one of them, looking closer. "This theatre builds and paints all their sets. She could have worn them while painting or grabbing something freshly painted."

I spoke up. "No. These are expensive rigging gloves used only for handling the ropes to fly people. Flying is very easy to do but can also be dangerous. You must be able to equal out the flyers weight, and no matter what you can never let go of the rope while the person is in the air."

My own words alerted me to a new thought. "I wonder…"

"What is it Azalea?"

I got up and quickly made my way to the backstage area where I had passed the pulley systems. I looked at all ropes closely until I came across the one I was looking for. The men were right beside me. Lestrade reached out and touched the rope. On it was traces of yellow paint. I looked at the label below the pulley. It read "2 MISSION INTERIOR".

"John, help me with this."

He looked at me like I was crazy. "Excuse me?"

I slipped on Kate's gloves. "I need you to pull this red lever when I tell you to while I lower the backdrop. Got it?"

"Uh yes I think so. Are you sure you know what you're doing?"

The answer was no, but I responded with "of course!" and grabbed the rope. "Alright John pull it." John pulled back on the lever and I began pulling down on the front rope. I could hear the pulley system working as a thin piece of scenery lowered to the ground. I stopped pulling once the entire piece was inside. I pushed the red brake back on and ran along the front of the stage, gasping once I saw the set in full view.

The set was a drop painted to look like the inside of a church, but was ruined by the giant yellow smiley painted on it. The men around me also stared up in awe by the massive swaying smile.

My heart sank as I muttered Moriarty's name under my name in disgust.

* * *

Anderson's team was called in along with the theatre director to let him see the damage done to the set. He was incredibly upset, but put on a brave face for the cops around him. The backdrop was lowered and moved to the left wing.

While being moved I found a crumpled up script left behind. A huge smile spread across my face as I read "GUYS AND DOLLS" across the front. The set piece now made perfect sense to me. Since everyone was either in the sewing room or outside, I walked to center stage, looking out into the large empty auditorium. I deeply inhaled, then exhaled, allowing some of my fondest memories to come forward.

I specifically remembered back when my own company put on the production of Guys and Dolls. I was a Hot Box Chick, which originally was a stripper/night club dancer, but because of our religious town the Hot Box Chicks were made into ditsy dancers. I opened the script to a random page in the script and laughed a little. The song "Bushel and a Peck" was one of our songs.

I began humming the happy tune to myself, the words coming back to me. I slowly made my way back towards the spot where I made my entrance during the show, and walked through the first few steps. My humming turned into quietly singing, and my stepping turned into more bouncy hops and cross steps. I threw the script to the ground, challenging myself to finish the song by memory. I no longer saw the empty seats before me. Instead I saw the large crowd I had performed to many times before, watching and staring at our beautiful costumes twirling and shining under the lights. I could hear the giggles from the crowd as we did our quirky dance moves and put on silly faces. I even went through the steps that required a partner, pretending one of my fellow performers was there with me. I began getting hot, remembering the blazing spotlights as they shone down on us. I began singing all the parts, not only the ones that were my own. I was slightly surprised yet extremely thrilled to find I could still match the pitch so well. My smile was so big it almost hurt as I twirled and twirled…

…and twirled right into Sherlock.

I jumped and yelped. "Sherlock you scared me half to death!" I could feel the euphoria of my performance dropping quickly, the lights gone dark, the scenery put away, the costumes no longer on, the music gone silent, and crowd gone from sight. I was now back on a cold dark stage in a lonely auditorium.

"I didn't mean to shock you. I just needed to tell you that we're ready to go but when I said your name you couldn't hear me.

I began speaking, though I found myself quite out of breath. "I'm sorry about all that. I don't know what I was doing."

"You looked as if you knew exactly what you were doing." Sherlock gave me a smirk.

"What? How long were you watching me?"

Sherlock's smirk disappeared in less than a second. He looked around. "Um, I uh, I think John's waiting on us." He turned and walked away as fast as possible.

I reluctantly followed, not wanting to leave my home at heart.

* * *

**I promise to add more Sherlock soon! There is a reason he's being so quiet! I promise he'll be the center of attention (as always) soon enough!**


	12. The Flower Charade

As the days turned colder and nights grew longer, the occupants of 221 Baker Street became more and more like a family. Mrs. Hudson and I spent lots of time together while John and Sherlock were out on cases. She taught me different British recipes to cook, and in return I'd teach her a few traditional American dishes. We would also go antique shopping together, which I enjoyed very much. When John was home he and I would discuss political matters (even though I had not the slightest clue on British politics) and our newest past time was watching rugby on the television. He explained to me how the game worked, and at one point he bought a rugby ball and we practiced tossing it back and forth. Sherlock and I however barely spoke.

"Quiet? Sherlock is far from quiet." John said to me one day when I brought it up.

"Well he is around me. He rarely acknowledges my existence."

"That's probably because he's still jealous you and I are close."

"Is he really still jealous?"

John took a bite of his sandwich and shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe. Probably. He's odd."

I looked around the café. It was busy for a Wednesday. I figured it had to do with the sudden pick up of wind, people were wanting to be inside with hot tea and warm food. John seemed to have dismissed the subject, but I was hung up on Sherlock's quietness.

"So, do you think he'll ever talk to me?"

John looked up confused. "Who?"

"Sherlock!"

"Oh yes right. I honestly couldn't say. You should count yourself lucky."

"Yeah but I don't."

John gave me a surprised look. "Does this really bother you that much?'

I looked down. "Well, I mean, just a little. I feel like I'm close to you and Mrs. Hudson, and he's close to you Mrs. Hudson, but he and I are not close, and I just wish we could all be close. I've tried and tried to open up and start conversation with him but he either responds with quick one-word answers or not at all." I sighed. "Is there something wrong with me?"

"Azalea no no no there is nothing wrong with you!" He wiped off his hands and leaned forward. "Look, Azalea, I'm going to be honest, I have noticed his shyness around you. It's weird, even for him. He might not be friendly to just any ole stranger, but he never blows them off the way he does you. I believe before he officially met you he had 'deduced' you from afar, making himself think you were some stuck up, arrogant, fake, helpless little girl he could easily squash. Then he actually met you and got to know you some, and found you were a strong and very likeable person. This threw him off, because he's never wrong. He just has mixed emotions about you. He doesn't know how to act around you. Just give it some time, he will come around eventually."

I deeply exhaled. "I hope so John. I hate the feeling of being at odds with someone I practically live with."

"I understand. Just continue pursuing a friendship with him. Eventually he'll give in and take a liking to you. Who wouldn't?"

I smiled up at the doctor. "Oh shut up and eat your sandwich!" He laughed at me then took another bite, ending our conversation of Sherlock.

* * *

John had obviously taken our chat over lunch to heart. That night after dessert he suggested playing charades. At first he mentioned playing Cluedo, but Sherlock quickly reminded him he had stabbed the board into the mantle and thrown his character on top of a bookcase.

"Azalea you know how to play charades right?"

"Yes I know how to play charades! At least I know American charades. I don't know if British charades are any different."

"I don't think so. Mrs. Hudson, would you like to go first?"

"I'd love to!" Mrs. Hudson stood in the middle of the room and took a second to think. Then she held up two fingers, showing it was two words. She acted out holding something, pretending to pour it out.

"Making tea?"

She shook her head at John, signaling that he was wrong. She then put one hand on her hip, the other made a "Z" formation in the air.

"Tea pot!"

"Yes very good Azalea!"

I smiled and got up, taking her spot. I thought for a moment, then held up two fingers and began trotting around in circles.

"A horse?"

I shook my head, then put my hands in fist and raised them up in a begging position while still trotting.

"A bunny?" I shook my head at Mrs. Hudson.

"A dinosaur with a few screws loose?" I smiled and gave John a look.

"A horse rider?" I pointed at Mrs. Hudson, signaling she was close.

"A horse jockey?"

"Yes!" I sat down and let John have the floor. He held up a single finger and quickly began doing small leaps in the air with his hands above his head. Mrs. Hudson and I immediately began laughing as he then attempted a few pirouettes and not-so-gracefully lifted a leg and pointed his toe.

"Let me guess, a ballerina?"

"How'd you know?!" He smiled and looked over at Sherlock who hadn't been paying attention at all. "Come on Sherlock, why don't you play along?"

Sherlock didn't budge. "I'm not in the mood for games right now."

"Oooh come on! Have a little fun!"

"It's hard to have fun when at this very moment Moriarty has just captured another girl or maybe is in the process of taking one and we have no idea why and we are just sitting here helpless while he's winning at the little game going on inside his head."

Everyone got silent. He was right. My stomach twisted into knots as I allowed the truth to sink in. Another girl probably about my age was stolen away, confused and afraid, gone unexpectedly from the world. I began slowly walking to the doorway.

"Wait Azalea where are you going?"

"Bed" was all I could manage to get out. Once in bed though, my thoughts just progressively got worse, and I slept very little that night.

* * *

As expected, Lestrade was standing in our doorway the following afternoon. He showed up a little later than he had the past few weeks. It was about three thirty when he walked in. He explained the case while in the car driving to the crime scene.

"Lilian Levine, age twenty, disappeared last night. She had left at seven to go to a nighttime pottery class at the school. Her mother and father were in bed by the time she got home so they haven't seen her. When her mum woke up to see her daughter was missing, she figured Lilian had gone out for a run. But after a few hours got worried and began calling her. The daughter never answered, and just an hour ago her father found her car keys and phone in her unlocked car. That's when they realized something was wrong and phoned us."

We pulled up to a small one story home and saw the mother standing on the front deck, waiting for us. She welcomed us into her home, explaining that her husband was out driving around putting up flyers and searching for her and that if we needed anything to just ask. Sherlock first checked the car. He found residue from clay on the steering wheel, so she had to have come home the night before, meaning the kidnapper was waiting for her. We then moved inside to her room. It was a typical girl's room; clean but not spotless, picture pinned all over the walls, the bed unmade. I examined as much as I could, but I found nothing suspicious.

The mother observed sadly in the doorway. "Lily isn't very organized, but neither am I so I can't blame her."

We continued searching the house to no avail.

"Find anything Azalea?"

I looked up at John and sighed. "Not a thing."

Lestrade grabbed a picture off the mantle. "Hey, she kind of looks like you." He held the picture up next to my face.

John grabbed it from him. "Oh yeah. She kind of does."

I looked at the picture and saw what they meant. She had long blonde hair, big hazel eyes, full lips and straight white teeth. Our features were definitely spot on the same, which made me happy, because she was absolutely beautiful.

We walked outside and joined Sherlock and the mum. Sherlock was busy inspecting every inch of the car the girl drove. Lestrade and John joined him. I stood back with the mother, watching. I could hear her sniffle some. I looked up and saw tears welling in her eyes. I didn't even think about it; I put my arm around the woman and pulled her in. She hugged me tight, her tears soaking the shoulder of my sweater.

"Don't worry ma'am, we'll find your daughter."

She stood up some and wiped her nose with a tissue. She smiled at me. "Thank you sweetie. I know we will." She dabbed her eyes. "You know, you remind me a lot of Lily. You look just like her. You two are like the same person."

The same person.

The same person.

_The same person._

My body got weak. My eyes began to lose focus. My breathing got more intense. I could feel my body start to sway. I don't remember much, just that soon John and Lestrade were soon standing on either side of me, holding me up. They kept asking me if I was alright. I would swallow and tell them I was feeling a little bit sick. They put me in the car and we soon left.

* * *

I stared up at my creation on the wall. Papers written with notes pinned up by thumbtacks. My room was silent other than the crackling fire. I was sitting on the edge of my bed, trying to find a way around the truth. But it was there. It was all there in front of me.

There was a knock on the door. I figured if I ignored it maybe they would go away. Instead my door clicked open. I turned my head quick, to tell John I was fine and I just wanted to be alone, but John wasn't there. It was Sherlock.

I stared up at him. "What is it?"

"May I please come in?"

"Sherlock I-"

"I know you've figured it out Azalea."

I stared hard into the eyes of this familiar stranger. "You know."

"Yes, I realized it the exact same moment you did." He walked into my room, closing the door behind him.

"Does John kow?"

"No I don't believe he does."

I remained silent for a few moments before speaking up again. "Sherlock, what do I do about this."

He made his way over, standing right above me. "Honestly, I don't know. But we're going to figure it out."

I looked down. "I hope so. I'm just scared."

Suddenly he gently grabbed my chin, tilting my head up. I stared deep into those light blue eyes.

"Nothing is going to happen to you. I promise."


	13. The Falling Violin

"What do you mean by 'Azalea's the common theme'?"

John was pacing back around the room, ruffled up by Sherlock's news. I sat on the couch next to Mrs. Hudson, watching John unfold.

Sherlock was standing still out of John's way. "Just think about it. The first girl loved nail polish, as does Azalea. The next one was a swimmer and Azalea was on swim team throughout school. The third girl had just gotten a tattoo and took spinning classes. Seeing that Azalea has two diamond piercings going down her spine she isn't against body modifications, and she admitted to taking spin classes. Then this fourth girl not only looked like Azalea, she was the same person as Azalea according to her mum. She even had a flower name as well! Lily!"

At this point John was sitting in a chair, staring at the ground. "Sherlock if you're right-"

"I am."

"-IF you are right, what does this mean for Azalea?"

They all three looked at me. I sat there, not knowing what to say. I had no idea what all this meant for me. I was helpless and clueless and scared.

"I'm not sure John."

"Well, I guess you need to figure that out then." John grabbed his coat. "They're short on staff at the clinic today and asked if I could come in so I have to go."

Mrs. Hudson stood. "And I have an appointment at the dentist that I best be heading off to."

Before they both walked out the door John turned to Sherlock. "Don't you dare let her out of your sight."

* * *

I took to doing some dishes while Sherlock played his violin. He was very good at playing, and I really loved listening to him. At one point while putting some dishes away I caught myself staring. He was standing at the window, playing and looking out longingly into the city. The soft grey light gently caressed his features, giving way to his strong cheekbones and jawline. His light skin and dark clothes almost gave the appearance of being in black and white. But his light blue eyes and subtle pink lips broke up the unity, proving he was indeed a human and not a statue. His arms were long and his hands large, but the way he gripped the neck and bow of the instrument was so daintily done, as if he were afraid to hurt it. His long fingers tenderly plucked at each of the strings, and his whole body moved with the tune. When he played the violin it reminded me of a man dancing with his lover.

_He could hold me like that any day._

I shook my head, forcing the thoughts out. I returned back to my chores, trying to focus on something else. But it didn't take long before Sherlock distracted me again. This time though it was through my ears, not my eyes. I held perfectly still, allowing the tune to reach my brain. I smiled big as the words to Scarborough Fair came back to me. I began singing it lowly under my breath. I got a little louder so I could hear myself. I continued cleaning up the kitchen while singing out the beautiful words to such a timeless song. I surprised myself, singing the second part without having to brush up on the lyrics. The music grew louder and with more intensity, so I sang louder and with more gusto. I was so caught up in the song, swinging and swaying to the beat, feeling the vibrato escape my throat, that I almost hadn't noticed the song end. I was sad to hear it fade away, and turned to clean off the table, only to see Sherlock in the kitchen doorway staring at me with completely stunned eyes.

"You know that song."

I froze, completely embarrassed. "Um, y-yes I do."

Sherlock stared a little longer, then whipped his violin up under his chin. "The beginning. Again."

"Wait what?"

"The beginning sing it again!"

"Oh, okay then." He slowly started the familiar tune back up. I opened my mouth and began singing along. _"Are you going to Scarborough Fair?"_

"Come on Azalea you can do better than that."

I gave him a look as I continued. _"Parsley, Sage, Rosemary and Thyme,"_

"Good now just a little bit louder."

"_Remember me to one who lives there,"_

"Good, good."

"_For once she was a true lover of mine."_

"Now the second part."

"_Tell her to make me a cambric shirt,_

_Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme;_

_Without a seam or needlework,_

_Then she shall be a true lover of mine."_

The violin faded out and my voice trailed off. It was then I noticed we had gotten closer and were standing right in front of each other. He stared down at me, and I stared back up at him. I was at a loss for words. It felt as if I were in some dream.

He broke the silence. "You surprised me with that one."

I furrowed my brow. "Thanks I guess? Your violining or whatever was pretty cool."

He smiled at me, causing me to smile a big dorky smile that made my cheeks hurt. "Thank you Azalea."

He looked down and opened his mouth to say more, but was interrupted by a loud knocking at the door. I jumped at the sound, and Sherlock rushed to open it. Lestrade came in and spoke fast.

"It's the stolen girls. Someone thinks they know where they are. A woman has been hearing girls crying and screaming in the flat above hers. She described the man who owned that flat as a short man with brown hair and weary eyes."

"Moriarty."

"Exactly. I'm taking off in my car, there's a police car here to take you. Hurry." The detective inspector flew back down the stairs and away down the street. Sherlock rushed to grab his coat and scarf, then threw my coat at me.

"Am I going?"

"John told me not to let you out of my sight, remember?"

"Oh. Right." I threw my jacket on and followed Sherlock down the stairs.

He stopped halfway down. "I'm forgetting something."

"Like what? Do you have your phone and wallet and keys?"

"Yes yes yes it wasn't something I forgot to grab, it was something I was in the middle of doing."

I was confused. "Uhm, well, you were about to say something to me when Lestrade walked in."

"Oh yes! I remember now! I was telling you that you have a very lovely singing voice."

And with that he turned around and continued on down the stairs. I was glad he was so focused on getting to the crime scene. That way he didn't me blushing.

* * *

"Have you talked to John?"

"I called him and let him know what was going on. He said he was on his way."

Sherlock, Lestrade and I stood outside the old apartment building. The bottom floor had an old worn out sign with "DANCE" across it. The weather was cold and windy and grey.

"Lestrade we can not wait for John to get here. Moriarty is always one step ahead of us. If those girls are really in there we need to act now before he escapes."

Lestrade sighed. "Alright fine. John should be here soon along with two back up persons. We'll just go in and see what we can find." We all began walking inside, but Lestrade then turned around to me. "Wait this is no place for a kid we can't bring her inside!"

"Excuse me I'm 20 I'm plenty old enough to make decisions for myself!"

Sherlock turned to the detective investigator. "Besides look around you. Look where you are."

We all looked around. We were in what I considered to be the ghetto of London. Homeless people were everywhere, staring at us.

"Okay you're right, but if anything goes wrong Azalea you get the hell out there. Got it?"

I nodded. We continued to the door and opened it. It creaked loudly, along with the stairs. When we got to the second level we stopped for a moment to figure out the plan of action. Suddenly the door to the second floor flat opened slowly. Sherlock pushed in front of me. Lestrade put his hand on his gun.

A raggedy old lady came out from behind the door. "Is it you? Is it the man I talked to on the phone?"

Lestrade stood up straight. "Yes yes it is me. We came to check out the situation."

"Oh thank heavens! I've been so worried! The screams and cries have been just awful." I moved around Sherlock. The old lady saw me and her eyes widened. "Is that one of them?"

"Oh no, she's just a, uh, an intern. She joins us on occasion to get experience."

The old lady shook her head. "That man upstairs is dangerous. Very dangerous. I see an evil in his eyes like no other. She really shouldn't go up there. I'm most certain he has weapons." The two men turned and looked at me. My heart began racing and my palms got sweaty. "How about she just stays in here with me? I'll make her some tea and let her watch the telly and lock the door so no one harms her."

"Yes excellent idea." I looked up at Lestrade. Then turned to Sherlock. I could tell he was internally struggling with letting me be out of his sight and protection.

"Don't worry, I'll be fine. I'll be nice and safe. Just please save those girls and please, I'm begging you, stay safe." I looked him hard in the eye, emphasizing just how serious I was. He looked back sorrowfully, but nodded slightly. I walked into the old woman's flat as the two men devised a plan in the hallway. She closed the door and motioned for me to sit on the couch. I did so and watched as she went to the kitchen. I was on edge, hands shaking, knee bouncing, breathing heavily. I had never been so anxious in my life.

The old lady returned. "Here you are some tea dearie. Just make yourself comfortable. The bathroom is in the door behind you and to your right is a game room. There's lots of just fun knick knacks if you want to peruse about. I'll be in my bedroom making a few phone calls so if you need me just come get me." She walked back through the kitchen into her room.

I sat on the couch, trying to force myself to drink the tea and calm down, but it wasn't working. I continued to fidget until I couldn't take it anymore and stood up, pacing about the room. There were lots of mirrors on the walls. I was able to see myself no matter where I looked. I suddenly got the urge to pee and went into the bathroom. The bathroom was very small and damp, and the toilet paper was rough. I stood up and moved to the sink. The water was cold, so I washed my hands quickly. I looked up to check myself in the mirror, but saw the medicine cabinet was open, showing me small shelves of personal care items. I closed the cabinet door and screamed at what I saw.

Painted on the mirror was a messy yellow smiley.

I covered my mouth and flew back against the door. I fought with the locked door handle to get out. I swung the door open and immediately began to cry out. Every mirror in the room now had a yellow smiley painted on them, still wet, dripping down the surface. Everywhere I turned yellow smiley's stared back. Tears poured down my face. I didn't know whether to scream out or stay quiet. I remained silent, purely from shock. I raced to the old lady's room and pounded on the door. It was locked. I ran back into the kitchen and looked for a knife of some sort, but there were none. In fact there was nothing. I made my way back to the living room.

Suddenly the main door's handle began to violently shake. I squealed and ran away from it, into the game room, slamming the door behind me. I looked around. The room only had three mirrors on the walls, all with yellow smileys. Other than that the room was completely, one-hundred-percent empty.

All except for a large full length mirror in the corner. It did not have a face painted on it. Why did that one not have a yellow smiley? I walked slowly towards it, hoping maybe I could hide behind it. The mirror was large and cracked from one corner. It looked more like thin glass rather than a mirror, yet I could see my reflection perfectly. I could also see the reflection of the door behind me, which was now opening slowly.

I turned around, backing up. A shadow appeared in the doorway. I began whispering a prayer under my breath, begging God to let me be okay. The person walked in. It was the old lady, tears running down her face.

"Oh my goodness you're alright! I was so scared he had gotten you!"

"I'm okay! Are you?" I started walking towards her.

"No no! Stay right there! I know a way to get out!" She quickly hobbled her way to me.

"How?! We need to hurry and call the police and let them know!"

"Shh shh whisper dear child! I think he's in the flat! I don't want him to hear us!"

I started whispering. "Okay okay just tell me how to get out of here!"

"I'm not supposed to tell anyone, it's a secret!"

I stared at the woman wide eyed. "I'm sorry miss but I really need to go, I need to get out of here right now! This man is hunting me and he knows I'm here and I'm scared and please ma'am I have to get out of here so just tell me the damn secret!" My eyes were full of tears, my throat hurt, my head was pounding along with my heart.

The woman sighed and nodded. She grabbed on to both my shoulders. "The secret is-" She stood on tiptoes to reach my ear. I leaned forward. She put her lips to my skin.

"-Moriarty is alive."

I didn't have time to process what was said. Before I knew it she had pushed me into the large mirror behind me. It shattered as I fell through it, then through a hole in the floorboards behind it. I felt like I was falling forever before landing on my back, knocking the breath out of me.

I could feel my blood pooling up under my head. My vision got blurry. I had to tell myself to breathe. I slowly began losing feeling in my finger tips and toes, then my hands and feet, then my arms and legs. Soon I felt nothing. I could move nothing. I could do nothing.

Blackness began crawling in from the edge of my eyesight. I tried to blink it away, but it didn't work. I stopped telling myself to breath, and started letting my eyelids close the way they wanted to. I knew I was supposed to be fighting this. I knew I was supposed to try. But instead I allowed myself to sink under the weight around me. It was easier.


	14. The Broken Reflection

The first thing I felt were my eyelids. Then my nose, cheeks, ears, and chin. I started feeling the rest of my body slowly regain consciousness; my toes and fingers, up to my hips and shoulders. But after regaining feeling in my torso and the rest of my body, I started to feel other parts, like my heart pounding extra hard to pump my declining blood flow, my lungs painfully expanding against my ribcage, my stomach churning in shock. I tried to look to the left, but the way I was bent caused strain on my spine and immediately pain shot into my skull.

So I turned my head to the right, trying to focus on my surroundings. Shards of glass lay around me, littering the hardwood floor. I was in the middle of one large room. I continued to slowly move my head as much as possible, looking at the right wall. It took me a second to understand why I was seeing a duplicate of myself; the whole wall was one giant mirror. A giant mirror with a round wooden bar going along it. I thought back to the "DANCE" sign I saw earlier and realized I was in a ballet studio.

I continued to stare at my crumpled reflection. I saw blood in my hair and on my forehead, as well as everywhere on the ground. I looked like a ragdoll spread on the floor.

And behind me was a man.

"My what an entrance you've made." Moriarty didn't speak to me directly. Instead he spoke to my reflection, staring me dead in the eye. My jaw clenched and I tried to move.

"Ah ah ah I don't think that's such a good idea. You might hurt yourself. You may become paralyzed. And we don't want that to happen now do we?"

He smiled at me through the mirror.

"I'll bet you're wondering why you're here, aren't you? Well I guess I might as well tell you. Secrets don't make friends now do they? It's quite simple, really. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't still a little bit bitter over you ruining my retirement plans. But I wouldn't kill you over something like that. In fact, this doesn't have much to do with you at all. It has to do with Sherlock."

I made a noise in my throat, which was more painful than I thought.

"I'm a man who feeds off challenges. Sherlock has always been a challenge in one way or another. And you have become the PERECT playing piece for this never-ending game. I knew he was alive before anyone else did. I knew he had never died. And I knew he was watching John. When you came to London and began developing a friendship with the good doctor, I just knew it was killing Sherlock on the inside, so much that he couldn't stand it. Once he revealed himself, the game was on.

"I needed Sherlock to feel replaced, so I created crime scenes that only you could solve. At first I was a little weary on how smart you could be, but after solving the case of the opened finger nail polishes, I knew I could depend on you. I built up your hype, making you appear more clever than you actually are. And it worked. Sherlock got defensive, and was pulling against you for the trophy that is John Watson.

"But he pulled a trick that I didn't expect. He actually _gave in_. I could see his hard cold shell chipping away the more he got to know you. He even APOLOGIZED to you after being so rude. You, a young girl he had just met. I came to my own deductions that during those two years out on his own he became weak. He is not the same man I watched jump from that building so long ago.

"So I had to change direction. He was no longer going to fight with you, so I completely turned it around to make him fight _for_ you. And, just like that, I went from having one pet to three. I can now play with you, Sherlock, and even John which, I'll admit, I'm quite excited about. John thinks you are his. But really, Azalea, you're mine. All mine. I can do with you anything I want, and then sit back and watch two grown men squirm. Sherlock Holmes can't protect you. John Watson can't protect you. And I want them both to know it."

At this point my heart was in my stomach. I had to fight for each breath. Pain was starting to creep in through my injuries, even though my adrenaline was pumping. I closed my eyes, begging for this to be a dream. Just one big bad dream. I slowly felt my body relax a little. My breathing slowed. My throbbing limbs rested at ease.

It was just a dream.

_It was just a dream._

I needed to get up. I needed to get out of bed. I needed to run to John or Mrs. Hudson or Sherlock or anyone and tell them about my nightmare. I needed to be told it was all okay. And then drink a cup of calming tea, even though hot tea didn't sound very enticing. I was burning up. I must have sweated in my sleep; my back was soaked and my shirt was sticking to it. Same with my forehead. I could feel sweat dripping down my face.

I head my name being called in the flat above me. Must be John, calling me to come eat. Mrs. Hudson must have cooked, I could smell it wafting down the stairs. After a terrible nap a nice meal sounded good. I tried to kick the sheets off me, but didn't feel them. I guessed I had kicked them off during my slumber. My name was called once again. I took a deep breath and opened my eyes slowly, figuring I might as well get up before John was pounding on my door.

My room was dark. I blinked, trying to get my eyes to focus on the old tattered wallpaper.

But instead my eyes focused on a mirror. A big mirror covering the wall, with a round bar in front of it.

And I was alone.

_No._

I began to panic, but my body realized panicking would do no good. I was defeated. I accepted where I was. This wasn't a dream. This was real life.

But if I wasn't dreaming, why was I still hearing my name being called out from above me?

That's when I realized that, even though my life was currently a living nightmare, it was still a life I wished to live. I still wished to live. It was still _my _life.

I took a deep breath and, using all existing energy, called out as loud as I could. "JOHN!"

"Azalea?! Where are you?!"

I couldn't muster up much energy for more than a word at a time, so I continued yelling "JOHN!" towards the hole in the ceiling. At this point I began sobbing. I couldn't hold it back anymore.

"Azalea! I'm coming for you!" I could hear footsteps creaking in the room above me. "Dammit Sherlock where is she?!"

"John!" I was losing energy fast.

"Azalea I can hear you! I can hear you! I'm coming Azalea!"

I could hear the footsteps getting closer. That's when I heard a second voice.

"John look. In the corner. The mirror."

I cried out through my sobs. "Sherlock!"

The steps ran to my direction. I heard shoes crushing glass. Soon I saw two faces peer down the hole at me.

"Oh my God Azalea! No!" John leapt through the hole at an angle where he landed next to me. Sherlock followed close behind.

"Azalea…" Sherlock reached towards me.

"No you mustn't touch her if you move her she could become paralyzed! Azalea listen to me the ambulance is on the way. You have to stay conscious! You hear me?!"

I attempted to mutter something, but my breath escaped me. Numbness began to take over me. I fought as hard as I could to keep control, but I couldn't. I could feel every inch of me slipping away.

"No no no Azalea you have to stay with me! You have to! Please!"

I wanted to respond to John's words, but my lips had gone numb. Blackness started creeping in the edges of my eye sight. My eye lids were weighing heavier and heavier. I could still hear though. John had stood up and walked a few feet away, yelling on the phone.

Suddenly, amidst the freezing numbness, I felt a slight bit of weight in the palm of my left hand. I couldn't tell if this new feeling was warm or cold. I forced my eyes open and looked around. From the way he was positioned, I knew it was Sherlock's hand gently holding onto mine.

He was practically whispering. "Azalea, I'm so sorry. Please stay with me here. You need to stay alert. You've lost a lot a blood. I need you to do this for me."

He continued to say more, but my hearing began to fade. My eyesight was nearly gone.

"No Azalea!"

Sherlock was now hovering right over me. I tried to focus on his scared eyes, but details were now gone and what was left of my vision was a dark blur.

"Azalea…"

I couldn't fight any more. I had almost completely lost consciousness when the blurry figure above me leaned closer and, in a shaky voice, whispered out to me.

"_Evee…_"

At the sudden sound of my name I wrapped my fingers around the consulting detective's hand still placed in mine. I grabbed as tight as I could before allowing the darkness to take over.

* * *

**Just wanted to add a footnote saying THANK YOU to all the reviews I've gotten! Positive reviews and new followers are what keep me going! Love to all!**


	15. The Wilting Child

It was easy for me to tell the voices I was hearing were not a dream. My dreams had all been night terrors and dark hallucinations. These voices were kind and familiar. These voices were real. They comforted me, even though I couldn't make out exactly what they were saying. I didn't need to know what they were saying to figure out I was in the hospital.

It was early morning. I had only just woken up, but I just knew today was going to be the day. The day I return to the real world. I attempted to open my eyes, but the bright sunlight burned them. Every one of my attempts ended in tears, the light too strong for my weakened pupils. It had to have been at least fifteen minutes before my sight was able to adjust, and even then I still had to squint.

My room was quite large, but also quite bare. The walls, ceiling, and floor were all white, but thanks to the rising sun the room had a warm yellow hue to it. I slowly turned to my right. There were bouquets of beautiful bright flowers on the table next to me. I smiled at them, seeing lots of azaleas. They were a nice reminder that, even in a foreign country, I was loved and cared for. They made me glad I chose to live.

I wasn't alone for more than twenty minutes when I heard my door click open. I smiled as John and Sherlock shuffled their way in with coffee and a bag of what I supposed to be breakfast. John spoke low and quietly closed the door.

Sherlock's voice wasn't quite as quiet, and John shushed him. "Are you just trying to wake her up?"

Sherlock smiled at John and looked up at me, smile fading. "John."

"Yes?" Sherlock didn't answer, which made John look up. He saw Sherlock's face and turned to me. They both stared as I smiled at them. "Azalea!" John quickly made his way over to me. He stood by my side and gently put his hand on my cheek. "Azalea you're awake! How are you feeling are you doing okay? Do you need a nurse?"

I had to use extra effort to speak. "No John I'm fine." My voice was low and very raspy. I coughed a little, feeling mucus resting in my throat.

"Sherlock water! Go fetch her some water!"

I laughed slightly, making me cough even more. Sherlock appeared with a glass of water and a straw. I carefully wrapped my lips around the straw and sucked down the cool refreshing drink. It felt so nice on my hoarse throat.

I looked up at the two men at my bedside. They looked worn and extremely tired. "How long have I been out?" The water didn't help my voice. I still sounded like a smoker.

"Three days. You were rushed here Thursday evening, then stayed here Thursday night, Friday night, and Saturday night. Today is Sunday." John explained everything to me carefully, as if I wouldn't understand.

"Wow. Guess I've been out a while. So what happened?"

John and Sherlock both stood there, frozen. I knew I had just woken up, but I wanted to know. I needed to know.

John finally sighed and gave in. "Well, we found all of the girls. They were in the flat above us locked in a small room. They weren't in too bad of shape. He kept them well fed and hydrated, and they had a bathroom to use and shower in. The lady in the flat you went in was obviously in on the whole thing. That wasn't even her flat." John paused a bit. "When we found you, you, well…" He trailed off, staring down at his feet, unable to find the words. "Um, when, when you had fallen…" He pursed his lips, fighting that terrible evening's images.

Sherlock spoke up very matter-of-fact like. "When the old lady pushed you backwards, you crashed through the mirror and through a hole in the floorboards. When you landed, you tried to break the fall with your left hand and ended up breaking your wrist and fracturing your arm. You landed flat on your back, tailbone hitting the ground first, literally moving your spine. The worst part of the fall was the glass that you fell through. Large shards fell with you and it just so happened one particularly big piece stuck to the floorboards and then you fell on top of it. The shard impaled you. It went through your left side, narrowly missing any major organs. It did cause a majority of the blood loss. A shard of glass also cut a deep gash behind your right ear, and you broke three ribs. Two on the right and one on the left. Other than that, you're alive and well."

I looked up into Sherlock's eyes. They seemed cold and hardened. As if there was no emotion. I was confused by the tall tired man. He didn't seem to be reacting the way he should be. I definitely wasn't asking for pity, but it wasn't normal how much he seemed to not "care".

John looked up at me and sighed. "Moriarty was gone by the time we had gotten to you. No one's seen him since."

My heart sank. What if he tried this again? Would I ever be safe?

The door opened and a doctor, two nurses, and Lestrade walked in.

Lestrade gaped at me. "You're awake!"

I smiled at him as he stood by me and grabbed my hand. "Yes I'm alive! Believe it or not!"

"Well you definitely gave us quite a scare!" Lestrade smiled warmly at me, then took a step to the side to allow the doctor to stand next to me.

"Hello there Azalea, I'm Dr. Lefman, and I'll be your primary doctor. How are you feeling today?"

"Hello there doc. I'm feeling good I think. I feel sore, but I also feel kind of out of it. If that makes sense."

"Oh yes, that's what I expected. You're pumped full of pain meds right now, so what your feeling is normal." He looked at Lestrade and nodded. Lestrade returned to my side.

"Okay Azalea, I want to ask a favor of you."

I nodded, putting on the bravest face possible.

"Alright. The crime Moriarty has committed against you is very serious. I'm sure you're very well aware of that. But, for records sake, I need to ask you permission to photograph the injuries inflicted on you. We would of course keep them safely hidden away. Then with your consent take photographs of the injuries once a month to document the physical damage he has caused. Are you okay with that Azalea?"

I didn't think twice about it. "Well yes of course! If helps then yes go right ahead!"

"Good. That's good then. Um, doctor?"

The doctor returned to me. "I think you should start with the face. Get her cuts and bruises. Then we'll flip her over to see her back. I have to change the wrappings anyways."

John took a step towards me. "Do you want us to go? Me and Sherlock?"

I grabbed his arm. "No. Please, you can stay. Only if you'd like of course, but I would prefer it." John smiled and stepped back next to Sherlock. Lestrade grabbed a camera out of his bag and hovered over me, snapping a few shots all around my face and behind my right ear. Next Lestrade took pictures of my casted arm. The doctor said there's not much to see with the arm, but he'll give the detective a copy of the x-rays, which showed the majority of the damage.

The doctor and nurses then explained how they were going to flip me over and cut away my body wrap. The process was slow and slightly painful, but eventually I was laying on my stomach. I was very uncomfortable, and it felt as though the drugs were wearing off. I could feel a little more pain the more I moved. The nurses made sure my lower torso was totally covered, then the doctor began slowly cutting the body wrap up the middle.

A thought suddenly came to mind. "Nothing touched my tattoo did it?!"

John's voice spoke faster than the doctor's. "You have a tattoo?!"

The doctor chuckled. "Believe it or not there isn't a single scratch on your tattoo, which surprised me."

It surprised me too. I pictured my tattoo in my head. It was a golden California poppy to the right of my spine. The head of the flower was about the size of a fist and was placed just below where the back of my bra would be. The stem was long and green, and went from the flower head all the way down just below my waistline. The end of the stem was always hidden by bikini bottoms or pants, which was perfect. Towards the bottom of the stem another flower branched off towards my spine with a very small golden flower head. I had a short torso, so the piece wasn't too big. But for my body, it did run the length of 3/4ths of my back. It was my pride and joy, so I was very happy to hear it was unscathed.

"What about my dermals? The two piercings at the top of my spine?"

"One of our nurses removed the gem, but after all procedures were done and precautions taken, she screwed them back in. No worries dear." He then finished cutting and had the two nurses' help in removing it out from under me. My back was now bare, and I felt like I could breathe again without the constriction.

Lestrade made his way back over to the bed. "Well look at that tattoo! It's beautifully done."

"Why thank you." I could hear the shutter going off every few seconds.

The doctor spoke up. "Azalea, do you think you can turn your head side to side? I know you're face down in the pillow, but see if you can. Your spine is not symmetrical and we can see a difference when you move your head."

I slowly lifted my head a little and turned it to the right. Lestrade snapped a few photos, then I lifted my head again and faced to the right. I could now see John and Sherlock. They were both staring, wide eyed at the scene in front of them. John's face looked mortified, and even Sherlock seemed unsure of what he was seeing. It must have looked bad.

"Oh God look at that! Look at the way her spine moves!"

Lestrade confirmed my thoughts. It definitely looked bad.

* * *

I remained in the hospital another five days before returning home. When I arrived back at 221 Baker Street I found that the boys had placed my bed in the living room where the couch was. The couch was now moved to the other side of the room with the chairs.

Mrs. Hudson helped get me situated in my new spot. "I know you don't get much privacy here, but we all agreed we didn't want you staying alone in the basement. You need care, and it's much easier having you up here."

I did want to have some privacy, especially looking the way I did. But I understood why I had to be upstairs. I knew it wouldn't last forever, and I knew I'd cope.

The days grew shorter and nights longer. The next few weeks were absolutely miserable. I could never get comfortable, and my sleep schedule was way off. The meds I took made my diet a little screwy, and the side effects were worse. Sometimes I would think it had only been one day when it really had been three. I never had any normal or decent dreams. They were all nightmarish and realistic. The pain from my ribs and back injuries were the worst, though the broken wrist was also a huge set back.

I felt defeated. I felt broken. I felt helpless and weak and needy. It wasn't purely the physical pain causing my demise. Moriarty's words rang in my ear on repeat, day and night. He not only broke my bones. He also broke my soul. I had very little hope anymore. Everything that's happened to me so far in London has been determined by Moriarty. I had no control of my own life. Moriarty decided everything for me. I no longer had a purpose. What was the point? Anything I wanted was interrupted by the madman. He controlled what I did. I was no longer my own.

These thoughts especially got worse at night. Tonight was one of those nights they kept me up, swirling around in my brain. I was so focused in on them that I almost didn't notice Sherlock standing beside my bed.

I look up confused. "Hello?"

He didn't move. "Hello."

I coughed a little, cutting off the end of his greeting. "Sorry, my ribs make me cough a lot. It's killing my throat. I'm tired of having this raspy voice."

"It's okay, I actually kind of like it."

I narrowed my eyes at the man, confused. "Sherlock, what are you doing here?"

"I couldn't sleep, so I came out to check on you."

"Check on me? Do you do that often?"

He looked to the side a little. "I do on occasion, yes."

The lights were off and the room was dark, but the moonlight spilled in through the windows, allowing me to see the large black circles under his eyes. He looked awful. His face was sunken and his skin looked brittle.

"Sherlock are you okay?"

He looked down. "Yes of course I am. Why does everyone keep asking me that?"

It was hurting my throat to speak out, so I patted the edge of my bed. He gave me an odd look, and I pointed to me throat. He understood and sat next to me.

"Sherlock, I know you're not okay. You don't have to talk to me, but I do know you aren't fine."

He stared out the window. "Azalea, are you scared?"

I didn't even have to ask what he meant. "Yes. I am scared. It's okay to be scared."

He looked at the floor. "I'm scared too." He paused a long while before continuing on. "But I have only been deathly afraid a few times in my adult life. Three times in fact. Twice with John. Once with you."

I looked up at him. "What?"

He sighed. "I was scared when we couldn't find you in the flat, yes. But I was truly terrified when I looked down that hole and saw your bloody body sickly splayed across the ground. I felt my heart pound yet stop simultaneously. The image haunts me every night. I can't make it stop. And I'm still afraid. Afraid every time I check on you that you'll look the way I found you that day."

"But you still check on me."

He briefly went silent. "I guess one fear overrides the other."

I furrowed my brow. "What do you mean?"

He turned to me. "Yes, I fear you'll look the exact same way you looked on that floor. But I also fear that if I don't check on you, you'll be gone. One night I didn't come out to see if you were alright just to force myself to believe you don't need me there, and it was the most dreadful night I've had. I don't want you to be gone Azalea. Not again."

His eyes looked red and teary. I grabbed his arm and painfully pulled him down to me. I didn't care how much he seemed to despise physical contact. I needed a hug. And I truly believed he needed one too. He was tired and weak, making it easier to pull him to me and wrap my arms around him.

"Sherlock I'm not going to leave. I'm going to fight with everything I've got. I promise."

His long body was now taking up part of my bed. I welcomed the warmth happily. I let go of the exhausted man, expecting him to get up. But instead he lay there unmoving. I lifted my head and looked at his face. He had fallen asleep in those few seconds of being held. I smiled, happy to see he was getting some sleep.

Without thinking twice I placed my hand in his hair, petting his thick curls. It was therapeutic to me, and brought me comfort. It must have comforted him too. His breathing got more relaxed and he turned to me, curling into a loose fetal position, cuddled up against my body. This tall man, who sometimes seemed unhuman, whose intellect far exceeded those around him, who I in way admired, was now a child in my arms. He looked so peaceful and content. All he needed was to be held. To be comforted. And I guess that's all I needed as well. My mind was now at ease. I could now breathe without worry. As much as he brought me pain, Sherlock was what I needed. He made me feel like it was all going to be okay.

That was the best night sleep I got in a very long while.


	16. The Unexpected Date

It was now early December. I was still not in top shape, but I was able to go back to a mostly normal life. My bed was back down in my room, and the residents of 221 Baker Street were all finally at peace. Though of course, daily life with the world's only consulting detective and his fiery best friend and partner was never dull. At least once a week Sherlock had a new experiment going on in the kitchen, and Mrs. Hudson was always there to complain. John was rarely affected by the odd experiments, and usually just chuckled at his friend's weird behavior.

The police department was busy, but nothing involving Moriarty ever came up. No one had seen or heard of him for weeks. I still joined Sherlock, John and Lestrade on cases, but I never was ever able to help much other than maybe writing down a few notes. Moriarty was right, he had built me up to seem like a miniature Sherlock, but once I witnessed the curly haired genius in action I knew I wasn't even close. I didn't mind too much.

One day Lestrade came by our flat to inform us a new investigation. It wasn't anything too exciting, but the detective investigator needed some input.

"Finley Gelson, age twenty two, just moved back to London just last week. You might recognize the last name Sherlock."

"I do. Harry Gelson."

"Correct. Harold Gelson was a famous criminal back in the day. He was caught nearly fifteen years ago in France and imprisoned, but was killed by a fellow inmate. Finley is his only son. He grew up in Liverpool, but visited his locked-up father in France often. He went to school to become a police officer and recently finished his training. Just yesterday he applied at our department, looking for a job on the force. He has a clean record and graduated at the top of his class. Turning him down would be obvious discrimination. Now we need officers, and he has all the credentials we look for in a policeman. But-"

"But you're worried about his true intentions with the force."

"Exactly John. His father was arrested for many different offenses, but some of his charges dealt with our police department in particular. He attempted to break in multiple times, and once he violently kidnapped an officer's family and held them hostage in exchange for secret information. He never got very far with these desperate actions, but his obsession with the London force was definitely worth noting."

Sherlock spoke up. "So you want us to spy on the kid to make sure he's not up to any funny business."

"I know it's not anything spectacular, but my other private investigators are busy at the moment, and I thought you might want something to do for when you get bored."

Sherlock sighed. "Well I can't say no, you're right about me being bored. Give me the kid's address and we'll take care of it.

* * *

"Sherlock why are we here?"

John was not thrilled with the fact he was stuck in a parked car on the side of the street against his will. I wasn't too happy with it either, but I didn't mind as much.

"Finley eats at this diner every evening around five o' clock. I've walked down this street the past few nights and seen him in there eating, but it's been too cold to stay outside and observe him."

"Why then haven't you gone in and observed him from inside the diner?'

"Don't be silly John he'd surely recognize me."

John rolled his eyes. "Okay then so tell me, why am I here?"

Sherlock glanced down from his binoculars. "Mrs. Hudson took my skull again."

"You're bloody joking right now."

"You know how I am! I get bored and need someone to talk to!"

I sat in the backseat, smiling as they continued bickering. "As much as I enjoy hearing you two fight like an old married couple, I'm going to have to get out and go to the bathroom."

John sighed. "Fine. Just go across the street to the diner."

I got out of the car and made my way to the restaurant doors. It was nice and warm inside, and I quickly made my way to the restroom. While on the toilet my phone began ringing. It was Sherlock. I shook my head and ignored the call. He called again while I was washing my hands. This time I answered it.

"Why did you not answer the first time?!"

"Because Sherlock I was on the toilet!"

"And?!"

I rolled my eyes. "What do you want?"

"Don't leave the diner."

"Excuse me?"

"When you come out of the washroom find a booth and sit facing Finley. Let them wait on you and order some food. Make sure you are alone and don't make it look like you're waiting for anyone."

"May I ask why I'm doing this?"

"Because when you walked through the door to the back of the restaurant Finley couldn't take his eyes off you. You peaked his interest. I want to see if he'll interact with you."

I stood there for a second, processing this information. "And if he does 'interact' with me? What do you want me to do? Flirt?"

"Exactly."

"Oh my God Sherlock." I paused. "I'll see what I can do."

"Of course you will."

"Screw off." And with that I ended the call. I took a deep breath, preparing myself. Even though it wasn't much, I was unbelievably happy to be a help to the investigation. I had been feeling quite useless lately, so this was important for me to not mess up. I checked myself in the mirror, fluffed my hair, pinched my cheeks, licked my lips, and headed out the door.

I walked slowly towards the front, looking for my target. I saw him alone at a table, stirring some coffee. I picked a seat a few tables away, facing the boy. From the corner of my eye I could see the car with my two crazy flat mates inside parked just across the street. I could also see the reflection of Finley in the window. He was now staring at me. I looked up and away towards the seats in the restaurant, gracefully removing my scarf and fixing my long hair to one side, revealing part of my neck. A waitress came over and gave me a menu. I smiled up at her and looked hard at the words, gently biting a nail as I perused the options. My waitress brought me a water and straw, which I unwrapped, put in my drink, and tenderly sucked on.

I peered around the diner and "accidently" caught Finley's eye. He immediately looked away when I saw him, but soon he returned his gaze to me. I smiled slightly at him and looked down, as if embarrassed. I bit my lip as I looked over the menu a little more, then barely raised my eyes. He was still staring and looked around, ashamed he had been caught. When he did look back me, I held the menu up a little and mouthed the words "what's good?" and shrugged.

I knew he understood what I was saying, but he still put his hand up behind his ear and mouthed "what?" I smiled and pointed to the menu, making a confused face. He laughed a little and stood up. My plan had worked. He walked over and sat across from me.

"I'm sorry I didn't mean to make you move."

"Nah it's no big deal. Are you needing help with the menu?"

"Oh I don't know, I just thought you might have a good suggestion for me. I've never eaten here before."

"Ah. Well it's not much different than any other diner's food, but if you'd like I can order for you what I always order for myself?" He smiled up at me.

"Oh? And what is that?"

"Tomato soup and a cheese sandwich."

A smile spread across my face. A real, genuine smile. "That actually sounds wonderful."

He ordered our food and started chatting some. He was incredibly sweet and unbelievably handsome. He had a long jaw line and sharp features. His hair was short and blonde, and his eyes were a dark blue-ish grey. He was undeniably sexy, but I tried to halter my thoughts, reminding myself that I was here to work. Once our food arrived conversation had grown. We took bites in-between sentences and while the other was talking. We shared equal amounts of information, one not talking more than the other. I told him where I was from, and he told me where he grew up. He never mentioned his father, but I didn't expect him to after just meeting.

We were in the middle of laughing over some story when my phone began to go off. It was Sherlock. I sighed.

Finley looked up at me. "Who is it?"

"Just my flat mate. I'd better answer it." I stood and walked away from the table, putting the phone up to my ear. "Yes?"

"Time to go. Tell him goodbye now."

"But-" The phone clicked off. I grumbled and returned to the table. "Sorry about that. My flat mate and I share a car, and they're pulling up outside soon."

'Which means you have to go?"

"Unfortunately, yes." I reached into my pocket and took out my wallet.

"Oh no you don't." I looked up at the man across from me, confused. "Put your wallet away. This is on me. My treat."

I smiled up at him. "You sure?"

"Of course I'm sure! I only ask for one thing in return."

I gave him an odd look. "Okay? And what is that?"

"Your number." He smiled gently at me. A smile crept up on my face.

"Um yeah, of course. Here." I wrote my number sloppily on a napkin and handed it to him.

"Thank you Azalea. You'll definitely be hearing from me." He stood above me, smiling down.

I nearly stuttered on my words. "And I'll definitely be looking forward to it." I smiled at him, then turned away and walked out. The sky had gotten darker, and the air a little colder, but I felt bright and warm on the inside. I ran across the street and opened the back door of the familiar car, sliding into my seat. Sherlock began pulling away.

John turned around and stared at me in the back seat. "So?"

I didn't know what to say. "So…what?"

John exhaled sharply. "So what happened? Did you get anything interesting?"

I shrugged. "Not really. He seems like your typical guy. He's as nice as can be. Doesn't seem like a crazy criminal."

"We'll just have to keep investigating." John turned back around in his seat, but he continued speaking. "And I'm not sure I like how good you were at hooking him." I laughed a little, John always being the ever protective father figure.

After spending the rest of the evening with Mrs. Hudson everyone parted ways and headed to bed. It felt so nice to crawl into my warm bed and be alone with my thoughts. As hard as I tried, I could not get Finley out of my mind. I fought with every fiber of my being to remind myself that he was just a mission target and could even possibly be dangerous. I had just accepted the fact he was nothing more than a case when my phone buzzed from under my pillow. I grabbed it out and read the text on the screen from the foreign number.

"_Are you free tomorrow? There's a Christmas caroling festival going on downtown and I'd like if you joined me. Sleep well. –Finn."_

I sighed deeply. This mission was going to be a lot harder than I expected.

* * *

**Just incase anyone wanted to know how I picture Finley, Google image search Roger Frampton. I promise you won't be disappointed ;)**

**QUICK SIDE NOTE: I've been considering starting a new story to work on along with this one. I want to base it off a dream I had the other night. It would Sherlock based, but there would be some fantasy-like aspects to it as well, such as mystical beings and special powers. And, just to change it up a bit, I would make it Johnlock. I was just wondering if that sounds interesting to anyone, or if it's a little too "crazy" to work.**

**And, as always, thank you all for your wonderful reviews! My followers are what keep me going! :)**


	17. The Innocent Caroler

**I'm so sorry about the delay! I'm currently working on THREE Sherlock FanFics right now, (one in which has to be done by a deadline), and my six week vacation just ended. So I apologize for the wait! I promise once I get back into a routine I'll be posting more regularly!**

* * *

"Good morning Azalea!"

I rubbed my eye and smiled. "Good morning Mrs. Hudson." I made my way into the kitchen, poured myself a cup of coffee, then loaded it with cream and sugar.

"You're going to give yourself diabetes if you continue to make coffee that way." John didn't even look up from his paper.

"Yeah yeah, whatever." I smiled as he peered at me from over his paper. I sat in my usual seat at the table across from him and sipped the hot drink. "Where's Sherlock?"

"He's down at the café meeting up with Mycroft."

"Mycroft? Who's that?"

John lowered his paper, looking at me with a furrowed brow. "Mycroft? Sherlock's brother? You haven't met him?"

"Sherlock has a brother? No I haven't met him."

John thought for a moment. "I guess that makes sense. He left midway through summer to tend to foreign diplomatic matters or something of the sort. He returned to London late last night."

"Huh. Sherlock's never mentioned any siblings before. Is he, you know…"

"Like Sherlock? No. Mycroft is a very intelligent man yes, but he behaves more like a normal human."

"Which is what makes him weaker." I turned around to see Sherlock walking into the kitchen.

"Hello Sherly! How is your brother?" Mrs. Hudson was now sitting at the table drinking tea. I enjoyed when she sat down to relax.

"He's tired from jet lag and orange, but other than that he's all the same."

John folded his paper and set it down. "Did you say orange?"

"Yes, it appears he spent a little too much time enjoying the Egyptian sunshine." He walked over and poured himself some tea. "I'm not sure what to work on today. It's the weekend, so I don't think Finley will be at the diner."

"He'll be in downtown at the caroling festival."

The entire room stopped moving as everyone fixed their eyes on me.

"And how would you know that?"

"He texted me last night, asking if I would join him."

Mrs. Hudson clapped her hands together. "Awh, does Azalea have herself a boyfriend?"

"NO!" Sherlock and John answered simultaneously. I looked between them as they looked up at each other.

Sherlock spoke up first. "I mean no, she does not. This boy is a subject we're investigating for Lestrade. He could be a dangerous criminal." He stared hard at me and emphasized the last two words.

I rolled my eyes. "From the thirty minutes of chatting with him yesterday he seems fine. Lestrade even said he has no criminal record and graduated top of his class. Just because he has a bad father doesn't mean he is also bad."

"Yes but I have dealt with criminals far more 'clean' than what Finley appears to be and they ended up being the worst ones."

"I don't doubt that, and I do plan on proceeding with extreme caution, but we shouldn't just jump to conclusions because of circumstances he cannot control."

"Oh _I_ am the one jumping to conclusions?!"

"Hey hey you two stop it! We don't know enough to fully deduce how good or bad he is, so let's just continue investigating him, shall we? Azalea what did you write back?"

I spoke to John but kept my narrow eyes fixed on Sherlock's, neither of us wanting to cave in to the other's intimidation. "I haven't responded. Not yet, at least." At that last part I gave Sherlock a sly little smile. He just tilted his head sideways in a "Really?" type way.

John pretended to not notice our miniature battle going on. "Alright well how about you text him back saying you'll be joining him," Sherlock broke our stare and quickly whipped his head up at John, "and Sherlock and I will be watching the whole time."

I looked up at John and smiled. "Sounds like a plan to me!" Then I looked up at Sherlock. "I best go and get dressed. I want to make sure I look nice for my date." I put extra force behind the word date. Sherlock rolled his eyes as I made my way downstairs.

* * *

The streets were quite crowded when we arrived. I stood next to John as he ordered us hot chocolates at the small food cart. I thanked him for the hot drink as we made our way over to a bench.

"Where's Sherlock?"

"He said he had to stop by the station to grab something, but he should be here soon." I nodded, taking a quick sip from my cup. John was quiet for a second, then began talking to me lowly. "Azalea, I just want to run something by you really fast."

I looked up at the doctor's face. I could tell something was bothering him. "John what's wrong?"

"Nothing really. I just wanted to talk to you about Finley. As stubborn and annoying as he can be, Sherlock is right. This man can potentially be very dangerous. What we're doing here, using you as a ploy, is honestly very wrong. We shouldn't be doing this. But at the moment it's what's working the best, and Azalea if you ever feel uncomfortable with this-"

"John no you don't understand. You don't realize how incredibly happy I am being able to do this for the department. I feel so useless and insignificant when you two are working. I always assume I'm a burden. So to be able to take on such an important task makes me feel important. I want to be here. I want to be doing this. I honestly am very surprised you're even allowing me to be so involved, but I'm thankful for it. And I do understand how dangerous this task could be, I just like messing around with Sherlock."

John smiled at me. "Azalea, I've grown to see you almost like my own child. I want to protect you and make you happy and ensure you live a happy life. I want the best for you and if I had the choice I would put you in a safe little bubble to keep you out of harm's way. But, like all parents must realize, you won't always be around for your child to keep them safe. Everyone must grow up and live their own lives. You are twenty years old. I can't control you. I can only trust you. And don't you ever believe you're a burden. Sherlock may act like he doesn't want you around, but I've seen him interact with all types of people, and you are one of the few he looks at with fondness. We would rather you here than anywhere else."

My jaw was locked. I wasn't sure what to say to John's kind words. So instead I wrapped my arms around him and squeezed him tight. He was surprised at first, but quickly hugged me back. This was the man I had always wanted, that I always needed. He was the dad I never had. I whispered a sincere thank you into his ear.

We separated ourselves as he began speaking again. "Oh! And I completely understand wanting to mess with Sherlock. I do it every chance I get, which is rare, so take advantage of your opportunities. He deserves it." He smiled at me then looked over my shoulder. "Ah, speak of the devil!"

I turned around to see Sherlock in his long black trench coat and blue scarf walking towards us. He looked at me. "Stand up." I did as I was told as he pulled out a small black box from his inside coat pocket.

"What is that?"

He opened the box and began fiddling with the contents. "It's an earpiece and microphone. We may get separated from each other in this crowd and I don't want to risk any one of us being totally alone when this is prime Moriarty hunting grounds. Plus, I want to be able to hear Finley speak. From watching his movements and listening to his tone I should be able to pick up on any lies he might tell. Here, we all three get a set." He handed each of us a nude earpiece and a small black clip on microphone. I watched as John clipped his microphone to his shirt collar and Sherlock to an inside fold of his scarf.

I checked my phone as we walked through the crowd, testing the ear pieces. I could hear Sherlock and John as if they were right next to me, when really one was across the street and the other was a block behind me. I opened my messages, clicking on the newest one from Finley.

"Alright he's texted me back. He wants to meet me at the fountain. What fountain is he talking about?"

"_Keep walking straight, you're about a minute away from it."_

"Thanks." Sherlock didn't respond, but I continued walking. Soon I saw the tall marble fountain above the crowd. Not long after that I saw Finley sitting on its edge, looking around nervously. I smiled a little, wondering if he was looking for me. "I see him. I'm going in." I lifted my chin a little and stuck my chest out slightly, walking in my high heeled boots as confidently as possible. He saw me walking towards him and stood up smiling. I was surprised by how nice he looked. He had combed his hair some and was dressed very nicely.

I was also surprised by the long hug he gave me.

"I'm so happy you came. I was worried I'd never see you again."

I gulped, staring into his beautiful eyes. "I'm definitely happy I decided to come!"

A deeper voice came in through my ear. _"Oh god Azalea please don't tell me you'll be like this all night."_

I ignored the voice. "So what would you like to do?"

* * *

The evening went by fast. Too fast. Even though I had my two always quarreling flat mates in my ear at all times, I really enjoyed my time with Finley. We walked around, checking out the street vendors, listening to the carolers, eating hot food. We never stopped talking, and most of the time we were laughing. I tripped over the cobblestone at one point and he grabbed my hand to catch me. He never let go of my hand, and continued to hold onto it all night. While talking we got onto the subject of family, and he told me all about his dad. I could tell he was embarrassed to admit his father was such a terrible person, but I reminded him that didn't automatically make him a terrible person. (At that I head Sherlock scoff through my earpiece.) He also told me all about his lifelong dream to become a cop, and how he would do everything in his power to clear his family name. It was very sincere, and I didn't need Sherlock to know he was being completely honest.

It was now late at night. Most of the crowd had disappeared, and the vendors were all shut down. The city was the quietest it had been all day. Finley had offered to walk me home, which I happily accepted. John and Sherlock were already back at the flat, waiting for me, but still listening in.

"Here, switch sides with me." Finley moved around me, placing himself on my right side.

"Why?" I asked as he laced his fingers back through mine.

"Well there's hardly any cars out tonight, and I've never trusted the city alleyways. So I'd just rather be between you and the buildings. Just typical cop reasons I guess." I couldn't hold back my smile. I hadn't been able to all night. The whole day felt like a dream to me. We arrived in front of my building, and Finley looked at me confused.

"Is something wrong?"

"Do you seriously live here?"

I furrowed my brow. "Yes? Is that a problem?"

He laughed a little. "I think the only problem is the fact you never told me your flat mates were Sherlock Holmes and Doctor John Watson!"

My eyes got wide. I had made a mistake. A very obvious mistake. How could I have been so stupid?

"I can explain Finley! I'm so sorry!"

"Sorry? Why are you sorry?! This is fantastic!"

_What?_

"Um…fantastic?"

"Yes! I've been a Sherlock fan ever since I was in school! He's my idol!"

"_Oh look, we've got another John Watson."_

"_Sherlock, I can still here hear you."_

"_I never said you couldn't."_

I ignored the two men in my ear. "Oh! Yes, of course! Yep, I live with the infamous Sherlock Holmes and Doctor John Watson!"

"I can't believe it! If it's not too much to ask, I'd love to meet them sometime!"

"_Oh please, tell him to stand in line."_

"Alright I'll definitely get you in someday. Though to be quiet honest, Sherlock really isn't that exciting. If anything, he's quite an annoyance. Very stuck up.

"_I can still hear you."_

"_She never said you couldn't."_

Finley's smile faded. "Oh. That's a shame."

I didn't like seeing his smile gone. "But I mean, that's just on his bad days. He definitely has some good days where he's very interesting. Talking to him is never a bore."

"Wow, I bet it's amazing to watch him deduce people and evidence huh."

"Oh yes, very."

"_I don't appreciate that sarcastic tone."_

Finley faced me and grabbed both of my hands. "I had a really good day Azalea. I hope to see you again very soon."

I smiled up at the blonde beauty in front of me. In all honesty, he was way out of my league. I have always been extremely confident when it came to the business of flirting. I was a very pretty girl when I tried, and I knew I was blessed with curves. But this irresistible boy in front of me could easily pass as a model, and was also very smart and very kind. He made me nervous. It was a good nervous, but nervous nonetheless.

"_By the way he's standing he's trying to get at close to you as you'll allow him. You need to get out of there Azalea."_

"_What the…oh my god Sherlock get away from the window!"_

"Did you hear that?" I said as I looked over Finley's shoulder. He looked behind him, and while his head was turned around I grabbed the speaker out of my ear and shoved it into my jacket pocket."

"What did you hear?"

"Oh, I don't know. I think it must have been a hobo looking through some garbage or something."

"Oh, okay then." He turned back to face me. "I guess I should let you go inside. It's getting cold."

"Yeah I guess. Just make sure you text me when you get home okay? I don't trust these streets any more than you do."

He smiled at me. "I promise." He pulled me in and wrapped his muscular arms around me. We stood there for a few moments, melting in each other's warmth. We look up at each other, our noses only inches away. I saw him quickly glance down at my lips; I stared hard at his. Our breath was shaky as we inched slowly together, our cold noses almost brushing.

The front door flew open, causing us both to jump apart. Sherlock stood in the doorway in his pajamas, looking back and forth between us, then fixating his gaze on me.

"Inside. Now."

"Sherlock-"

"It's okay Azalea I'll just text you when I get home. Have a good night Mr. Holmes." Finley nodded to each of us and headed off into the new falling snow.

I went straight to my room to avoid a heated confrontation with Sherlock, though I didn't mind. My room already had a fire started and was nice and warm. I unclipped the microphone and changed into comfy sleep clothes, crawling into bed. The day had been long, and even though the perfect ending was just ruined by my high functioning sociopath flat mate, I knew I would fall asleep with a smile on my face.


	18. The Dream Doorway

Christmas shopping for the residents of 221 Baker Street is probably one of the hardest things I've ever had to do.

I walked through the shopping center, glancing at all the stores, hoping genius present ideas would pop out at me. Christmas was in two weeks, and the shops were packed. I had already bought Lestrade a new wallet and Mrs. Hudson a cookbook she'd been mentioning. I knew exactly what I was getting Sherlock: a new music composition book since the one he was using was nearly full. John and Finley were the hard ones. John never needed much to be happy, and he's never shown any desire to own anything in particular. Finley and I had gotten a lot closer since the caroling festival, but even so we've only known each other for a week. We haven't been able to spend any time together because he went out of town to visit some friends, but we text all day and talk on the phone all night. I'm completely certain he is not a criminal in any way shape or form, and I believe the others realize it as well.

The music store was crowded, but I was able to easily find the composition book for Sherlock and get out as quickly as possible. I only had forty-five more minutes before I was to meet Mrs. Hudson out front and head home. She was currently buying food and decorations for the Christmas Eve party we were hosting. I made my way around all the busy shoppers, thinking hard about gift ideas for my last two boys.

While passing a clothing shop a certain manikin caught my eye. I cut through the sea of people and looked more closely at the clothing on display. The outfit was very similar to what Finley had worn the other day, all with the exception of the nice scarf around the neck. I grabbed the scarf, holding it loosely in my hands. The material was absolutely gorgeous and felt thin yet very heavy. It was also the exact same color as Finley's eyes: a very light greyish green. It was absolutely perfect.

I didn't think twice and made my way to the checkout. But, as I stood in the long line of anxious shoppers, something caught my eye. On one of the racks, surrounded by the dark sophisticated clothes the store was obviously known for, was a short red cocktail dress. I left my spot in line and walked straight to the dress, not taking my eyes off it. I didn't spend much time looking at the details; instead I found my size and headed to the dressing room. At first I was nervous to put it on. It was meant to be a tight fitting dress, and though I have a perfectly proportioned body, tight bottoms sometime accentuate the wrong parts, showing more curves and bumps than they should. But the skirt portion had thicker ruffled fabric, allowing my lower half to appear more smooth. I slipped my arm into the one shoulder and zipped it up.

It was made for me.

I ecstatically went back to the line, trying hard to force back my smile. Sure the dress was a little bit fancy for a small at home Christmas party, but I didn't care. This dress made me feel absolutely beautiful.

* * *

The next few days went by very quickly. 221 Baker Street was slowly turning into a winter wonderland thanks to Mrs. Hudson and myself. John had been complaining about neck problems, so I went out and bought him a nice new pillow. I also got him a gun cleaning kit and a coffee mug that made it look like you had a funny blonde mustache when you drank out of it. I wrote a note to each of the recipients and wrapped the gifts, placing them alongside the other presents under the tiny tree in the corner of the main room. About a week before the party, I got a call from Finley. He spoke extremely fast, telling me Lestrade gave him the job at the department. I was so happy to know others saw him as trustworthy as I did. After receiving the news, I decided to ask John and Mrs. Hudson if I could bring him to the party. They told me it was fine with them, and Finley rejoiced when I told him to come. I practically counted down the hours 'till Christmas Eve.

The day of the party was crazy. Mrs. Hudson got up extra early to start cooking, and John had to work a half day at the clinic. Sherlock was doing last minute chores for Mrs. Hudson, and I was busy finishing up the decorating and helping Mrs. Hudson cook. We took a break for some tea, and Sherlock brushed up on a few Christmas songs on the violin. I hummed along, knowing most of them. But when he began playing "God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen" I couldn't help but lowly sing along. It was one of my favorites, and he played it beautifully. My heart was happy with how perfect the day was going.

About two hours before people were to start arriving I bathed and threw on some sleep pants and a robe to get ready in. Before heading down to my flat though I remembered something important. Tonight was the first night I would see Finley since the night of the festival, and now that he was cleared as innocent, he and I were able to act more like ourselves around each other. I wanted tonight to be special for us. The setting was perfect to show off our newfound relationship without the pressure. I wanted tonight to be when we made it exclusive. I wanted tonight to be our first kiss.

I quickly made my way to a box next to the couch, pulling out a piece of mistletoe I had saved for last. I decided to place it in the main doorway, assuming it might actually be funny to watch others try to avoid it. Mrs. Hudson was in her own flat getting ready, and John had just hopped in the shower, so I went into the kitchen to grab a chair to stand on. Sherlock was there leaning against the counter, drinking tea and looking at his phone. When I started to pick up a chair he looked up at me.

"What are you doing?"

"I need to hang this mistletoe in the doorway!"

He sighed. "Give it to me, I can reach. You'll break your neck standing on one of those chairs while wearing socks."

"Oh okay. Thanks." I pushed the chair back and handed Sherlock the mistletoe, following him to the doorway.

He pointed up. "Right here?"

I walked up next to him, making sure it was dead center. "Yeah that's perfect." I stood there with my hand open, push pins resting in my palm for him to use.

He grabbed the first pin and shoved it into the stems and doorframe. "I don't understand the point of this."

I furrowed my brow. "It's for people to kiss under?"

"I know that, but it's silly." He grabbed the next pin. "Why do you need a pokey plant to kiss someone? What if you're just friends who accidently pass under at the same time? It just creates awkward situations."

I shrugged. "I don't know. I think it's kind of cute. And you aren't forced to kiss everyone you pass underneath. It's just used as an…excuse."

He grabbed the last pin from my hand. "So if someone doesn't have the courage to make a move they just wait till the other person is under the doorway to attack?"

I laughed a little. "Yeah, I guess you can put it that way. If you're under the mistletoe with someone you want to kiss, you just do it, whether you are romantically involved with them or not."

"Ah." He didn't seem to care. "There, how does it look?"

I stared up at the green and red decoration above the door and smiled hard. "It's perfect. Thank you Sherlock." I stood there, continuing to stare at the mistletoe. I began to imagine Finley's beautiful face leaning down towards mine, those grey eyes staring deep into mine, the corners of his mouth turned up just slightly. It was perfect in my mind, and it would be perfect tonight.

I started to move away from my spot in dream land, but suddenly there were hands on my face as Sherlock forced his lips against mine.

It took what felt like hours to realize what was going on, but I knew it all happened in milliseconds. I blinked rapidly, forcing myself back to reality, but when I came crashing back down to earth, I found my hands were wrapping around the back of Sherlock's neck, entangling my fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck. His lips were soft and warm against mine.

_His lips were soft and warm…_

…_against __**mine.**_

My hands flew to his chest as I pushed him away as hard as possible. He stumbled back then stood still, completely in shock. We were breathing hard.

I could barely speak. "Sherlock. What the…"

He started looking around timidly, searching for the words to say. His jaw moved like he was speaking, but nothing was coming out. Then his eyes locked on mine, and his body began to loosen a little. "Azalea." He didn't say any more. He just stared silently.

I turned and ran down the stairs, locking myself in my room. I slowly walked to my bed and sat on the edge. My mind was racing, yet I couldn't focus on a single thought.

There were only a few things I knew of for sure. For one, I knew I would have given anything to not go back upstairs for the rest of the night. For two, I knew I couldn't tell a soul about what had happened. And for three, I realized that no matter how many times I went back in time in my head, creating different mental scenarios, figuring out different ways I could have avoided it, I never could force myself to stop him. And that scared me.


	19. The Red Mistake

I stood completely still, staring at myself in the long mirror. My dress fit just perfectly. My blonde hair was full and pulled off to one side in a low ponytail, loose romantic curls hanging perfectly. My rosy cheeks and smoky eye makeup brought out my features, and paired with fake eyelashes and red lipstick made my face perfect. I had on silver jewelry and nude heels, perfectly bringing together the whole picture. The reflection staring back at me was perfect. I was beautiful. Stunning. Gorgeous. I looked like a model.

And I hated it.

This night was supposed to be a dream. Finley was supposed to come over, and I would introduce him as my boyfriend. Everyone was supposed to laugh and drink and get along. I was supposed to be happy and carefree, not having to worry, knowing Finley would find me gorgeous. This was supposed to be our night.

But instead the night would be filled with me trying to avoid Sherlock, and hold in the emotions that came with the events of earlier. Knowing him he would go through the night acting like nothing happened, like everything was okay. And I would try and do the same. But in the back of my mind I would know that Sherlock Holmes had kissed me under the mistletoe, and that in that kiss I had felt something I had never felt before.

Maybe he had just been curious. Maybe he just was doing what he thought he was supposed to do under mistletoe; that he thought he was just following the rules. But no matter what I tried to convince myself he had thought, part of me knew otherwise. Sherlock always knows what he's doing. He's calm and collected. He thinks before he acts. And in that moment, he gave way to his heart instead of his head. He didn't think at all. He just did it. It wasn't just a quick peck. It was a genuine act. I could feel the emotions running through him with his lips on mine. I could feel the excitement and honest sincerity that motivated him. I could feel the how badly he had wanted that kiss in the way he grabbed my face.

And I could feel my true intentions in the way my hands automatically brought him closer instead of pushing him away.

A knock at the door brought me back to reality. I jumped and turned around, hesitating before speaking. What if it was Sherlock? I held my breath, thinking of what I should do.

"Azalea?" I released the breath. It was Mrs. Hudson. I walked to the door and opened it.

"Sorry Mrs. Hudson you just surprised me."

She looked me up and down with wide eyes. "My dear Azalea, you look absolutely stunning!"

"Really? You don't think it's too much?"

"Heavens no! If I could pull something like that off I would wear it in a heartbeat!"

I smiled at her, thankful she had come downstairs. "Okay good. I was starting to have second thoughts."

"Nonsense dearie you look perfect! Now if you're done getting ready I need your help upstairs deciding on where to place the dishes. Just come up when you can." She turned and headed back upstairs. I sighed and went back into my room, cleaning up my hair and makeup mess before also making my way up. I walked slowly, knowing I was about to face Sherlock. I kept telling myself to just be cool, that it was all going to be okay. The main room was warm and smelled heavenly. Mrs. Hudson was organizing the presents under the tree when she looked up and saw me.

"Oh you look even better in the light! Come into the kitchen and help me a little." I followed her around the corner. My throat tightened and heart pounded as I saw John and Sherlock, backs turned to us as they snuck cookies to taste. "You boys get your hands out of there!"

John turned around with his mouth full of cookie, and when he saw me he stopped chewing. My whole body froze. He raised his eyebrows as he looked me up and down.

"Azalea! Wow!"

Hearing John's words Sherlock turned around. I studied his face as his shoulders visibly stiffened. He glanced down quickly over my dress, then stared me hard in the eye. His mouth was open slightly like he wanted to speak but couldn't. As John's face started smiling at me, Sherlock's appeared sad. I tried to control my breathing as I forced myself to look away.

Mrs. Hudson grabbed my arm. "Doesn't she look fantastic boys?"

Only one answered. "Very! You clean up good!"

I laughed a little at him. "Thanks John."

Mrs. Hudson shooed the boys out, and as they left I noticed Sherlock had snuck a handful of gingersnap cookies in his pocket. I couldn't help but smile.

* * *

Lestrade arrived first along with Molly Hooper, the girl who worked at the hospital. Molly was dressed up just as much as I was, wearing a floor length black gown with a gold sequined burst on one side, large gold jewelry, and flashy makeup. I had never met her before, but it didn't take long to learn her personality didn't quite match her bold attire. It also didn't take me long to notice Lestrade acted very odd around her.

Finley arrived next, and I couldn't have felt more relieved. He looked breathtaking, wearing a dark green sweater that was just tight enough to hug his muscles and khakis. I was again reminded of how far out of my league he was. I introduced him to everyone, leaving Sherlock for last, wanting to put off the worst for last. When it did get to him, Finley shook his hand hard and told him how big of a fan he was. I grew nervous of how Sherlock might react, but I was surprised to hear him graciously say thank you. I let out a heavy sigh, glad to have gotten that much out of the way.

Lastly Mycroft Holmes arrived. He was wearing a plain black suit similar to Sherlock's, but other than that they could not look more different. Mycroft was short and squatty, and had completely opposite mannerisms. John introduced me to him, and though he was quiet, I could tell he was a person you could feel safe around.

We all ate dinner and drank, exchanging stories and telling jokes. The mood was constantly lighthearted and merry, and even I was having a blast. Sherlock stayed away from me as much as possible, which I continuously told myself was a good thing. The desserts were fantastic. The drinks kept pouring. Everyone relaxed more little by little. At first both John and Lestrade kept a close eye on me and Finley, but soon enough let down their guard.

We were all gathered around the fire talking about music when Mrs. Hudson spoke up. "Sherlock, what was the name of the song you were playing earlier on your violin? The one Azalea was singing to?"

"It was 'God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen'."

Lestrade then spoke out. "I didn't know Azalea could sing."

My throat closed a little. "That's because I can't."

"Oh nonsense Azalea!" Mrs. Hudson was now walking over and grabbing Sherlock's violin. "Here Sherlock, play and let Azalea sing along."

My body froze. "Mrs. Hudson I assure you I'm not that good."

"Yes you are." Sherlock's words hit my ears hard. I turned and faced him. "I've heard you sing before. You have a beautiful voice."

I spoke without thinking. "Yes but the only times you've ever heard me sing it was just you and me, not a group."

"Then just pretend it's just us in this room." He stared hard into my eyes. I took a deep breath and walked over to the tall stool next to him. I took a seat, daintily crossing my ankles and looking around the room. Six sets of eyes stared at us. My breathing got shaky. Then I turned and looked at the tall man I had been avoiding all night sitting right beside me. I had not allowed myself to appreciate how he looked. His suit was tailored perfectly to his body, his hair was in perfect curls, and the flickering light from the fire showed his perfect facial structure. It was then I noticed that Sherlock Holmes look perfect. And that my breathing had slowed back to normal.

He tucked his instrument under his chin, tenderly placed his fingers on the strings, and began playing the beautiful tune I loved so dearly. When I opened my mouth to sing the words at first came out weak, but slowly I gained confidence and grew louder, getting more and more into the song. He only played the first portion of the song, which I didn't mind because I couldn't remember much of the rest. When he finished, I realized I had been staring at his eyes the whole time. He would stare back, occasionally looking down at his violin, then return my gaze. It all happened very fast.

The small crowd clapped for us and I smiled around at everyone before returning to my spot next to Finley. He wrapped his arm around me and pulled me close.

"You sounded amazing babe!" He then leaned over and kissed the top of my head. I couldn't hold back my smile, and refused to look at anyone's facial expressions. _Babe. _I was Finley's "babe", and no one could change that. My heart was very happy.

Soon it was time to open presents. Molly gave hers out first, then Lestrade, then Mrs. Hudson. Lestrade had gotten me a pair of socks that had yellow crime scene tape patterned around them, and Mrs. Hudson gave me an adorable cooking apron that was white with colorful tea cups printed on it. Next was John, who gave me a very sweet and endearing card, a coffee mug with little owls on it, and a new notebook for me to write in. I was ecstatic about the gifts. Next was Finley.

"I feel bad only having one gift for someone."

Mrs. Hudson flicked her hand in the air. "Oh don't be silly, we wouldn't have expected it any other way!"

Finley laughed a little then pulled out a small wrapped box. I opened it slowly, feeling the whole room stare at me. I lifted the lid and gasped. Inside was a necklace and earring set. They were deep blue sapphire stones surrounded by smaller diamonds. With jaw still dropped I turned the box around and showed it to the silent audience.

"My goodness those are magnificent!" Mrs. Hudson leaned forward, staring at the shining jewels.

I turned to Finley. "I don't even know what to say! They're beautiful!" I wrapped my arms around his neck, squeezing him. "Thank you so much!"

He squeezed me back. "Of course sweetheart. It's hard finding the perfect gift for the perfect girl."

I could hear the women in the room "awe" around us.

It was now my turn to hand out gifts. First was Lestrade, who read his note aloud and opened his wallet happily.

"You knew I had been needing a new one!"

Then Mrs. Hudson read out her note and opened her cookbook, gaping.

"You knew I had been wanting this!"

Next was John. His note was the longest (and a little embarrassingly cheesy) so he only read certain parts out loud. Then he opened his gifts, eyes wide.

"You knew I was not sleeping well!" He held up his pillow. I smiled at him. He then held up the gun cleaning kit and mug. "These are fantastic Azalea. Thank you so much!"

Then it was Finley's turn. His note was short and sweet, and he looked like a, well, kid on Christmas when he opened his scarf.

"You knew how much I wanted one!" He wrapped it around his neck happily. The color matched his eyes exactly.

I looked down and saw one last gift at my feet. I handed it to Sherlock, trying to act normal. He ripped off the paper and stared at the music composition book.

"How did you know?" His voice was low. I could tell he was genuinely surprised.

"I saw that you were near the end of your old book."

"How sweet!" Mrs. Hudson smiled at us. "Sherlock read your note to us."

I started breathing heavily again, not remembering what I wrote. He grabbed the small card and looked at it.

"It says 'Dear Sherlock, even though I've just recently appeared on the scene, I couldn't be happier that you're back. You're a wonderfully brilliant man and…'" he paused, "'…and I love the relationship we have. I know I can always trust you. Thank you for everything. Azalea.'"

My stomach was now in knots. He sighed then put on a smile, looking up at me. "Thank you Azalea."

I smiled back. "Of course, Sherlock."

His smile was fake. It wasn't a rude fake smile, more like a mask to cover up pain. My heart sank.

It was next his turn. He handed out small presents to everyone except Finley, though I know it wasn't an intentional move. No one really knew he was coming, and Finley honestly didn't mind. I ripped apart the wrapping paper, nervous about what it could be. A smile spread across my face, realizing what was in my hands. It was a small old glass jewelry box with a pink cushioned bottom. The edges were rimmed with gold, and it had tiny gold feet to stand on.

I looked up at Sherlock, his eyes already on my face, reading my reaction. "Sherlock this is absolutely gorgeous! I love it!"

"You do like it?"

"Of course I do! I love antiques! It's perfect!"

One corner of his mouth tugged up a little into a small smile. "Well that's good. Just be very careful with it. It is very old."

"Don't worry, I'll take great care of it. Thank you so much Sherlock."

"No, thank you."

* * *

It wasn't long after opening presents that everyone started leaving. Mycroft went first, then Lestrade and Molly. Finley stayed a little longer to help clean up and do dishes. Mrs. Hudson told me multiple times how perfect he is, and as I watched him help out my elderly land lady I couldn't help but agree. When he was done I walked him to the door, stopping once under the mistletoe. I tried to force myself to only think about Finley, and to not remember anything that had happened earlier.

"I had a great time Azalea. It was an amazing night."

I smiled up at him. "I did too. Everything went very well."

He smiled back, then looked down at his feet. "Sooo, I was wondering something."

"Yes?"

"Well, I was wondering if tonight made us official."

"I don't know, did it?"

He looked back up at me. "Yes." With that he kissed me softly, his lips warm against mine. I melted as he wrapped his big arms around me, holding me tight, yet kissing me gently. We eventually pulled apart, and I walked him down to the door outside, watching him walk away in the snow.

I returned upstairs, walking into the kitchen and grabbing a cookie. Mrs. Hudson called to me from the main room. I went to her and she handed me a bag.

"Sherlock forgot to take all his present to his room, so I put them all in here. Can you go take them to him? Just knock first to make sure he's decently dressed."

I nervously grabbed the bag from her. "Yes, of course." I walked to Sherlock's room and knocked.

"Come in." I slowly turned the doorknob and walked inside. He was sitting on the edge of his bed, wearing only some sleep pants and a robe that was parted just enough to see his bare chest. He looked up at me and furrowed his brow.

I lifted up the bag. "It's all your presents."

"Ah. Just set them against the wall right there." I did as he asked then turned to leave. "Wait, Azalea."

I stopped dead in my tracks and turned around. "Yes Sherlock?"

He stood up and walked slowly over to me. His voice was low as he spoke. "I just wanted to apologize for earlier. I didn't know how to act all evening. I was afraid you thought I had done it romantically."

I swallowed hard, trying to force down the lump in my throat. "So, you hadn't done it romantically?"

He gave me a slightly confused look. "No Azalea. Of course not. You had told me about the mistletoe tradition, and I thought I was just doing what was expected of me, and then quickly realized I had made a terrible mistake. I'm sorry Azalea if I made you think otherwise. I promise that was not the intent."

I struggled to speak without cracking. "It's okay. I knew there was no possible way it could have been romantic."

"Good, you understand then." He turned and walked back to his bed. "Goodnight Azalea. Merry Christmas."

I turned around as well. "Goodnight Sherlock. Merry Christmas to you too."

I quickly said goodnight to Mrs. Hudson and John, then rushed down to my room. I closed the door and ripped off my shoes and dress. I took down my hair but didn't even bother taking off my makeup. I threw on some sweatpants and a shirt, then sat on the edge of my bed, sobbing into my hands. What was wrong with me? Why was I so upset? I pretended to not know what was hurting my heart, but the words kept repeating through my head.

"_I was afraid you thought I had done it romantically."_

"_Of course not."_

"_Terrible mistake."_

"_That was not the intent."_

Suddenly through my tears I heard a strange noise coming from my dresser. I looked up and very slowly walked over, opening the top drawer. It was my ghost phone vibrating from a new message. I looked confused at the phone. I hadn't gotten a message on that one since the day I flew out here. I flipped the phone open and clicked on the new message.

"Merry Christmas Evee. –JM."

I closed my eyes, knowing immediately who JM was. I walked slowly walked back to my bed, curled up n a ball, and fell asleep before the tears were ever able to leave my eyes.


	20. The Lusty Year

Only two days after Christmas Mrs. Hudson and I were busy again putting together a New Year's Eve party. She explained that they didn't typically have one, but she wanted a reason to put her new cookbook to use and of course I wasn't going to argue with that. I took down all the red and green decorations and replaced them with garnishes of gold and silver. I was very thankful this holiday did not require any gift giving.

Sherlock went back to being normal quiet Sherlock, and I soon developed that same mindset of not caring. John and I were close like always, and spent most of our time together watching television or reading the paper. The two boys were called a few times to the station for cases, but nothing too exciting was happening. I didn't tell anyone about my text from Moriarty.

The days leading up seemed busy, but the actual day of New Year's Eve was oddly peaceful. Mrs. Hudson had a little bit of last minute cooking to do, but nothing I could have helped her with. There was no more cleaning or decorating to be done, so I decided to just sit back and drink some tea. John was taking a nap in his room, and Sherlock was out somewhere with Mycroft. Mrs. Hudson took a short break and sat with her own cup of tea in a chair near mine.

"Is Finley coming tonight?"

I smiled big. "Yes he is. I'm excited to see him."

"As am I dear. I really do like that boy. He's like an angel sent from Heaven."

I chuckled. "Sometimes I believe that to be true. He is perfect in every way." I stared down into my tea and sighed.

"Is something wrong Azalea?"

I looked up into the wise woman's eyes. I definitely had some internal struggles going on, but I had never thought to talk to her about them. I decided to try it out. "I don't know, I've just had a lot of confused thoughts lately."

"Confused how?"

I took a heavy breath, thinking of the best way to explain. "Well, I've only been with Finley for a few weeks, and I know it sounds silly, but I do think I'm falling in love with him. I'm not in love yet, but I'm on my way, if that makes sense."

"Don't worry, I know what you mean."

Relieved I wasn't sounding too crazy, I continued. "Oh good. Well every day I feel more and more like we're soul mates, and for the first time in my life I'm okay with that. I've always dated around, but the thought of finding my 'other half' at such a young age scared me. Except for now. Now I'm alright with the thought. And it's weird. Exciting, but weird."

"Azalea you know the saying 'when you know, you know'?" I nodded. "Well that saying is true. It's hard to explain it, but somehow your heart just knows. What you're feeling is exactly how you're supposed to feel. So what is it that you're confused about?"

I looked back down at my cup. "I'm not quite certain what it is exactly. You're right. At all times of the day my head and my heart are calm; set on a life path accompanied by Finley. But there's…someone else. It's not someone I love or that I'm even interested in romantically. It's just, when I pass by them or see them or even hear their name, my whole body perks up, suddenly interested solely in what they are involved in. And it just confuses me." I looked up at Mrs. Hudson, her face watching mine. That's when I realized she must know who I was talking about. Who else could I have been talking about? A small wave of embarrassment washed over me, realizing how this all sounded. But my landlady acted as if my feelings were perfectly normal, and continued the conversation as if my confession was expected.

"Oh Azalea, your words sound all too familiar. I cannot tell you the number of times I've had to deal with similar situations. But, in all scenarios, one piece of advice always rings true." She leaned forward and stared hard into my eyes. "Do not confuse love and lust."

I allowed the words to sink in. "Do not confuse love and lust."

"Correct. No one can tell you what you can and cannot feel. Even you cannot tell yourself. The only thing you can do is decide what these feelings mean, which one means love and which one is lust."

It felt as if a huge weight had been lifted off my shoulders. I took a deep breath. "Thank you so much Mrs. Hudson. You definitely helped me more than I expected."

"Of course dearie. You can always come to me when you need a good girl talk. Now go bathe and get ready, guests will start arriving in a couple hours and I know how you enjoy taking your sweet time to get all dolled up."

I smiled at her as I stood up and put my teacup in the sink. As I started to walk to the shower I heard Sherlock arrive home. My heart fluttered slightly and I smiled, knowing now that it was okay. It was okay that I got nervous around him. It was okay that he threw my thoughts off track. My feelings for Sherlock Holmes was completely lust, and as a human being that was okay. Because it didn't mean I loved Finley any less. And that made me happy.

* * *

"Only ten more minutes!" Lestrade excitedly reminded us how much time was left 'til the new year. He looked nice in a silvery button up and black slacks. Molly was wearing a short black and white dress with a silver belt around the waist and silver jewelry. They almost looked as if they had coordinated. Finley was wearing a black button up and dark grey slacks, and I was wearing a short loose fitting dress that was covered entirely with gold sequins. I allowed my hair to be down and straight, and did natural makeup. I still felt gorgeous, and this time I was content with feeling that way.

John and Sherlock were in the kitchen, eating like usual. Mrs. Hudson was now sipping on her third glass of wine and was feeling especially good. She was very giggly. I loved seeing her this way. She told me to go open the windows, and when I did I gasped in amazement. The street below was full of people, talking, laughing, celebrating the end of the year.

"Two more minutes!" Lestrade wouldn't take his eyes off his watch, waiting for the final countdown. Molly poured everyone a glass of champagne and passed them out. Lestrade called out one minute and everyone started to gather at the windows. Back in North Carolina I would typically be with family huddled around a TV to watch the ball drop, so this was new to me. Finley grabbed my hand and lead me to one of the windows, allowing to be right up front. I could faintly hear some of the people on the streets start counting down from sixty. At thirty seconds the crowd got louder, more and more people joining in. It was at ten that I felt like I could hear the entire city of London simultaneously count down, along with my friends in flat 221b. I couldn't force the huge smile off my face.

Then, after one, I heard millions of people scream out "Happy New Year!" and begin cheering excitedly. The largest fireworks display I had ever seen began over the Thames River, fireworks shooting off the Ferris wheel and Big Ben. Mrs. Hudson poured confetti into our hands and we threw it all out the window onto the partiers below. I had never seen anything like it. It was incredible.

We all toasted and drank down the champagne. Mrs. Hudson spoke out to me. "I think someone's forgetting the New Year's kiss!" I looked shyly up at Finley who laughed at Mrs. Hudson. He put his hand behind my head and pulled me up to his face, forcing his lips on mine. Butterflies still flew around my stomach every time we kissed, and tonight was no exception. We pulled away and wrapped our arms around each other, holding on tight.

The silence was brief before Lestrade's voice filled the room. "Awh to hell with it!" We all watched as he marched over to Molly, pulled her quickly into him by her waist, dipped her down and kissed her passionately. My jaw dropped along with everyone else's. They then stood straight up. Molly seemed extremely flustered, but very happy, her entire face turning red. Lestrade just interlaced his fingers with hers and smiled at her.

Sherlock broke the awkward silence. "Well Greg I was going to ask about you about your wife, but now I know more than I planned on knowing."

He gave Sherlock a smile. "My wife can piss off. She's currently in Cancun with some young hot shot, and soon she'll be my ex-wife." He turned back to Molly and gave her a quick peck. "And I couldn't be happier."

* * *

Everyone started leaving soon after the fireworks show ended. The flat was a bit of a mess, but I was happy to hear a very tired and very tipsy Mrs. Hudson say we'll clean it up the next day. Finley of course was the last to leave, and I sadly stood in the doorway, watching him walk out into the London streets. After my earlier talk with Mrs. Hudson, I felt as though I liked Finley more than I had originally believed. He really was perfect, as if he were made for me. This relationship felt different than any other relationship I had ever had before. Mrs. Hudson was right. When you know, you know. And I knew.

I went to bed happy that night. Even the text I received on my ghost phone reading "Happy New Year Evee" couldn't bring me down. I slept smiling.

* * *

**Thanks you everyone for your reviews! Each and every one of them is near and dear to me, and they all make me a very happy writer. Each individual review means something special to me in it's own way. I apologize again for my slow updates! Also, I've taken up the habit of putting song lyrics at the beginning of the chapters in some of my other stories, and I might start doing the same for this story. Just a heads up in case you start seeing random lyrics at the tops of the pages. Love you all!**


	21. The Unspoken Valentine

January went by in the blink of an eye. Which was strange since nothing really happened. John and Sherlock had more time than usual on their hands. The station didn't have many cases for the two boys, but it was flu season, which meant extra shifts at the clinic for John. He was happy when he got called in. He hated being bored. Sherlock took to performing odd experiments in the kitchen. Mrs. Hudson became very upset when hearing of this. Apparently he had done this in the past, and sometimes the experiments got quite gruesome. I just made sure he knew not to mess with my food and I wouldn't complain.

It was early February when I decided that even I was too bored for my own good and started searching for jobs. Back in the states most of my past jobs had been working with food, and I was practically desperate to get away from the food industry. I searched through papers and online, filling out application after application, creating a resume on my tablet to print and hand out. This process was boring and time consuming, but I really wanted a job so I could have my own money to spend.

After a long morning of online job hunting I decided to take a break and grab some lunch at the café next door. I grabbed my jacket and noticed John grabbing his too.

"Are you going next door to get food?"

He looked at me. "Of course. Are you?"

"Yep. I'm starving."

We walked to the tiny restaurant together, finding our usual table and sitting down. Our waitress recognized us and brought us our typical drinks before we even said anything. I opened the newspaper I brought with me and flipped to the ads posting help wanted. We had only been sitting for a few minutes when I noticed John was acting extra fidgety. He couldn't stop shaking his legs up and down, and he kept looking around the café, as if looking out for someone.

"John."

His head flew up. "What? Yes?"

I gave him a look. "Is everything alright?"

"Yes of course."

"Then are you meeting someone here?"

He narrowed his eyes at me. "Nooo?"

"Then what are you so anxious about? I've never seen you so jittery."

He looked down at his hands on the table. "Is it really that noticeable?"

"Yes, it is. What's wrong, is it a criminal or bad guy or something?"

"No no no it's not anything like that. Not even close."

I thought about this. "So a friend? Are you looking for an acquaintance of yours?" I knew I was being nosey. I didn't care.

"Eh, in a way I guess."

I smiled as a new thought entered my mind. "Is it a girlfriend?"

The corner of his mouth tugged up a little. "No, not exactly."

"Ah. So it's just someone you fancy?"

He looked up and met my gaze. "You're not going to drop this are you?"

I flashed a big smile at him. "Nope."

He chuckled. "Well, yes, I guess you could say it's someone I fancy. Just, don't tell anyone, alright?"

"Alright, I won't say a word. But, if I guess who it is, you HAVE to tell me if I'm right. Deal?"

John gave me a sly smile. I could tell he was slightly enjoying this. "Deal."

Our waitress came over and took our orders. Of course she was my first guess. He said no, and I moved on, looking around the restaurant. I asked him if they worked here in the café, and he told me yes and that that would be the only clue he would give me. I guessed two more waitresses that he denied.

Then a new waitress came over and put her hand on John's shoulders, rubbing them slightly. Her other hand was placed on her hip, standing close to him. She was a beautiful busty blonde, and was obviously very fascinated with the doctor. She asked him sweetly about how work was going for him, and how his life was. He answered very flirtatiously, and occasionally would meet my eyes and smile, knowing what was going through my head. I continued sipping down my soup, waiting for her to leave. When she did go, I looked up at John's eyes and smiled big.

"Do I even need to say anything?"

He took a sip from his coffee. "It's not her."

My jaw dropped slightly. "How? You've got to be lying!"

He smiled and shook his head. "It's not her. She's not the one."

I rolled my eyes. "There aren't many workers left to choose from."

"Hey, I said they worked here. I didn't say whether or not they were working today."

I glared at him. "Oh, you think you're so sneaky don't you."

He laughed. "Oh I don't think I am. I know I am."

"Well if they aren't working today, why are you still so fidgety?"

He looked at me as if he were about to speak, but instead his eyes looked over my shoulder, then back down to his plate. He kept eating as if I hadn't said anything. I turned and looked behind me, just catching a glimpse of a dark haired woman walking back into the kitchen. It must be her. I decided to wait till she came back out to say anything.

A man then walked up to our table. "Mr. Watson?"

John's head flew up from his plate. "Marty! How are you?"

"I'm doing quite well! How about you?"

"I'm doing excellent!" John then looked at me. "Marty, this is our newest flat mate Azalea. Azalea, this is Marty Stansen."

I smiled at the man. "Pleased to meet you."

He smiled back. "The pleasures all mine. You're lucky to constantly be in the presence of Doctor Watson here. He's a great guy. Hell he's just finished helping me out with a personal case, giving me some legal advice." He put his hand on John's shoulder. John visibly stopped breathing. He spoke a little lower.

"Of course, I'm always willing to help you out whenever you need it." John's tone changed. I got a weird feeling from the way he was acting that Marty's personal legal advice was supposed to be a secret. John held strong eye contact with Marty, as if trying to tell him something.

"Well it was good seeing you John. I best be getting to the back. I'm already late as it is."

John and I said bye and I watched Marty leave the table. He was a very good looking man. He was tall and thin with messy brown hair that had a hint of orange to it. His eyes were piercing blue, and his smile was contagious. I could easily tell he was a very likeable guy. I turned back and looked up at John. He was staring back at me, as if trying to read me. His expression was almost scared, like he was nervous about something.

And that's when it hit me like a ton of bricks.

"It's him, isn't it?"

John's jaw clenched as he looked down and nodded slightly. "Yes. He's the one."

I didn't even try to conceal my happiness and allowed my gaping smile to consume my whole face. "John! No way! He's so cute!"

"Good god Azalea keep it down would you?!"

I covered my smile with my fingers. "Sorry! He's just so adorable! I could totally see you two together!"

"Okay okay hush now."

"Have you talked to him?!"

"What?"

"Have you talked to him? Like really really talked to him."

"Do you mean have I…flirted with him?" I nodded. "Well no, not really."

"Well why not?"

John lifted his hands. "Uh, I don't know, maybe because I have no idea if he even swings that way!"

"Well how do you plan on finding out?!"

John sighed. "That's just the problem. I don't know. I've never, you know, felt this way towards a man before. I'm not sure how it works. It kind of scares me a little."

I looked into John's eyes. In them I saw genuine feelings for this guy. He really wanted Marty to like him back. "Don't worry John. We'll find out how he feels. I promise."

"And by 'we' you mean…"

"Me and you of course!"

He smiled a little. "Oh, of course."

Our waitress brought us our check, and John paid for the both of us. In return I mentioned inappropriately how I bet John would love to play doctor with Marty, in which John marched out of the café, asking me how old I was. We laughed all the way home.

* * *

The next week or so John didn't allow me to join him on his trips to the café. I didn't mind too much. I knew he would have to figure it out on his own. I did give him pointers though, whether he liked them or not. Most of my advice he did take, but some things he turned down as soon as I mentioned it. For example I told him to bring Marty flowers to work on Valentine's Day. He said there was no bloody way in hell he would ever even consider that. I took this as a sign John still hadn't made a move.

I knew Finley was going to get me something, so I took to finding a present for him. Mrs. Hudson decided to host a small Valentine's Day brunch and said I could invite him. Since Molly and Lestrade had now come out as "official", she invited them as well. It was set to be casual, and of course Mrs. Hudson was using recipes from her cookbook.

The day of the Valentine's brunch I woke up earlier than usual to help Mrs. Hudson set the table. I wrapped Finley's gift (it was a new shirt in his favorite style and color) and got ready. I was thankful the brunch was casual. I slipped into a pair of jeans and a nice shirt. I scrunched my hair just enough to create long loose waves and did minimal makeup. Finley showed up first, and it was as we helped Mrs. Hudson put the food out that I realized John was missing.

"Sherlock, do you know where John is?"

Sherlock turned to me while tuning his violin. "He was called into work early this morning. They were short staffed at the clinic. He said he'd be about thirty minutes late, but to not wait on him to get started."

Molly and Lestrade soon arrived, and we all began filling our plates from the table and sat in the living room around the fireplace. It was a very chilly day, so the fire was started early. The conversation was upbeat, and soon Mrs. Hudson mentioned presents.

"Azalea I know you got something for Finley."

"I did, but he doesn't have to open it right now."

Finley spoke up. "I'll open it later. I have a present for you, but it's not a wrapped gift."

I looked up at him. "Oh? Then what is it?"

He smiled at me. "Well, I planned on picking you up tonight and taking you back to my place where I'll cook us a nice dinner, then go see a late movie. They have old independent films playing late tonight at the cinema next to my apartment, and I remember you mentioning how much you loved independent films."

My smile was so big it was hurting my cheeks. "Finley that sounds perfect! I'm so excited! Thank you babe!" I wrapped my arms around his neck, making sure not to knock either of our plates off our laps.

Mrs. Hudson clasped her hands together. "How precious! Finley you are just too sweet." She then looked over at Molly and Lestrade. "Greg I hope you treat Molly the same way Finley treats Azalea. Did you two have any presents to exchange?"

Molly smiled. "Well we both have to work tonight, so Greg took me out to the shops yesterday and bought me a very nice dinner. It was perfect. I also gave him his present last night."

Greg smiled big. "She gave it to me this morning too."

Molly elbowed Lestrade hard. I peered around the room. Even Sherlock seemed to have trouble not laughing.

About halfway through the meal I heard the front door downstairs open and close. We could hear John's voice before he was even all the way up the stairs.

"I hope you all saved me something to eat!"

Mrs. Hudson chuckled. "Oh you know we…" She trailed off. I looked up at her, then turned around. My jaw dropped. The room went silent as everyone turned and stared at the tall lanky man standing next to John.

John was obviously extremely nervous. His voice was shaky as he spoke. "Um, guys, this is my…friend. Marty." Marty lifted his hand and gave a small anxious wave.

Mrs. Hudson broke the awkward silence. "Why hello there dear. I'm Mrs. Hudson, and this is Finley, Azalea, Lestrade, Molly, and Sherlock. There's plenty of food left in the kitchen, help yourselves!"

John led Marty into the kitchen where they grabbed plates and began loading up. I looked up at our group around the fire. We all looked around at each other, unsure of what to say. I started conversation back up, desperate to get the tension off poor John. The two men then joined our group, and though it was hard for the others not to stare, we all continued talking like before.

After about an hour we began playing charades, which was always a blast in 221b. I was surprised at how good Lestrade was at guessing, and Marty made us all laugh till our sides hurt when he was acting. Sherlock of course didn't play, but he had a smile on his face for a majority of the game. Around two Molly and Lestrade had to leave for work, and Finley had to leave and meet up with some family. Us remaining five did dishes and sat around the fire. Sherlock softly played his violin and snuck glances between John and Marty any chance he got. At one point John made the move and put his arm around the back of Marty's chair. Marty then scooted a bit closer to John to the point their knees where touching. It wasn't much, but it made my heart melt. He stayed the whole evening.

* * *

It was at six that I got dressed up nicely and awaited Finley to pick me up. He showed up outside our door in a nice black car. I said goodnight to my flat mate family knowing I would be home after they had gone to bed. We drove a little ways before arriving at his apartment building. He lived in a studio flat alone, and though it was small it was very nice. The entire flat had candles lit everywhere, and I could smell a delicious roast cooking.

Finley put on the shirt I had bought him, and I was pleased to see how nicely it fit his body. He poured us each a glass of wine and made our plates. The food tasted incredible, and I was very happy knowing my man knew how to cook. It was unbelievably nice to be with just Finley. Whenever we spent any time together it was either walking around in public or at my flat. We never really got to spend much time just us two, and I was grateful for this opportunity. It was a perfect Valentine's Day.

"You look absolutely gorgeous tonight."

I smiled up the model-like boy across from me. "You don't look so bad yourself."

He gave me a smirk. God I loved that smirk of his. We talked nearly nonstop for most of dinner. I briefly filled him in on the whole John-Marty thing, and he was just as thrilled as I was about the idea. He then looked up movie times at the cinema down the road, and after deciding on one we took our dishes to the sink to wash. He tried to push me out of the way, forcing me to not do any washing. I flicked dish water on him, causing him to flick water back. We began having a full on water battle, soaking each other. He slipped and fell, then pulled me down next to him. We laughed hard, then he pulled me down for a sneak kiss.

We didn't make it to the movie. Instead we decided to change into drier clothes, but somehow got lost in the process and ended up kissing fully naked. My lips were hungry against his, my hands grabbing for more. He placed his hands on the backs of my thighs, picking me up and wrapping my legs around his waist. He carried me to his room and set me down on his bed, making sure my head was on a pillow. He then crawled over top of me positioning his hips between my legs. Before going any further he looked me in the eye.

"Azalea, there's something I want you to know."

I stared up at the perfect face inches above mine. "Tell me."

He leaned down and put his forehead against mine. His breathing was shaky. "I love you."

My smile took up my whole face. "I love you too Finley."

With that he kissed me and lowered himself down. We slept very little that night.

* * *

It was five in the morning when I asked Finley to take me home. As much as I would have rather stayed there warm in his arms, I knew John could possibly wake up soon to go to work, and I wanted to be home before then. I put my wet clothes in a bag and wore a pair of Finley's boxers and one of his long button up shirts that looked more like a dress on me. My hair was a matted mess and my makeup was half smeared off, but I didn't care. Finley loved me. He wasn't going to judge how I looked.

He drove me home and dropped me off. I thanked him for the perfect Valentine's Day and headed inside. I tip-toed up the stairs, wanting to get a glass of water. The flat was quiet, and the rising sun lit the room up just enough. I quietly made my way into the kitchen, filling up a glass of water. I was still smiling, still high from such an amazing night. I danced a little dance around and table.

And then I saw Sherlock watching me from his chair next to the window.

I froze. We stared for a few seconds, unsure of what to say. His eyes confused me. They searched me all over, taking in the obvious evidence of how I spent my night. But what confused me was the fact his eyes weren't disapproving. They weren't scolding like I expected. They looked hurt.

I finally spoke up. "Have you been there watching me this whole time?"

His eyes fell to the ground. "I've been here all night."

I furrowed my brow. "All night as in you fell asleep right there?"

"No Azalea. All night as in I've been in my chair awake all night waiting for you to come home."

A twinge of anger shot through my stomach. "And why on earth were you doing that?"

"Because you said you'd be home late after going to a movie. I didn't think almost six in the morning was considered late at night."

"Why did you even wait up? What was the point?"

"The point is you're getting home way later than you told us."

"No, the point is you are not my father Sherlock and you can not control me."

"Azalea why?"

I looked around confused. "Why what?"

"Why are you getting home so late? Why?"

I swallowed hard. I could hear something new in his voice. "Sherlock, please don't."

I could now see his jaw clenching. "I couldn't sleep Azalea. I couldn't sleep until I knew you were home safe."

"Wow now you're really sounding like my dad."

He was now standing up "Will you stop calling me your dad?! I don't want to be your dad Azalea!"

"Then what DO you want to be Sherlock?!"

"Dammit Evee I don't know!"

The entire mood of the room had changed. We stared hard at each other, not knowing what had just happened.

I softened my voice, realizing the stormy waters we were nearing. "Sherlock, what's going on in your mind? Will you please tell me? I need to know. Please." I was practically begging him.

He now avoided eye contact. It took him a long time before finally speaking. "I'm just tired. I just need some rest."

My heart sank. A familiar wave of disappointment washed over me. "You're not going to tell me anything are you?"

His gaze remain fixed on the floor. "You should get some rest as well."

I swallowed back tears. I was able to mutter out a simple "okay" and started towards the stairs. Before heading down them I stopped.

"Sherlock?"

"Yes?"

"Can you please just not tell anyone about me getting home late? Especially not John?"

He looked up at me. "I won't say a word."

I walked down the stairs and crawled into bed, trying to force the last image of Sherlock out of my mind. When he looked at me, his eyes were glistening with tears; tears filled with words unspoken.


	22. The Trapped Emotions

**I believe I owe my readers an apology...**

**It has been way too long since an update...and for this I am very sorry. I've had the worst case of writers block the past week or so. I struggled to get through the last chapter, and this chapter I found was even harder.**

**Everyone has different ways they go about writing. Some start with the middle, write to the end, then write the beginning later. Others sit down and write a story beginning to end developing it as they go. My own personal style is what I call the "connect the dots" method. Basically I have a bunch of major plot points that are the "dots". I write and try to connect the dots, using filler story between these major points. It's the story between these dots that are the hardest to write, and are difficult to finish proudly.**

**That being said, I apologize for not only updating later and later, but also if these filler chapters are boring. I promise, I have LOTS of exciting plot twists in mind, and I do plan on getting to them. For all those sticking with me through this long and stressful (for me) process, I love you more than you know and am beyond grateful. And, as always, keep the reviews coming. When I hit the lowest points of writers block, I just reread the reviews. That in itself gives me the hope and motivation needed not to give up.**

**Love to all! xoxoxo**

* * *

Finley and I were as perfect a couple could be. I loved him, and he loved me, and any time we were together I could see our futures planned out together. My mind was set. He was my soul mate.

Yet there was still something wrong. Something that nagged at me. Something that always made me question my every thought, every action, every assumption.

And that something was the unspoken feelings between me and Sherlock Holmes.

I constantly found myself saying the word "why". Half the time I didn't even know what I was why-ing at. Everything was just…"why". Why did I feel so nervous around Sherlock? Why did I feel like visiting Finley was my "escape" from Sherlock? Why did my heart flutter anytime anyone said his name? Why did my mind always go foggy anytime he spoke to me? Why was he always in my dreams? And why did I feel this horrible tension between us?

I tried to force myself to believe he still felt his relationship with John was threatened by me, but deep down I knew that wasn't true. I constantly repeated Mrs. Hudson's words in my mind. _Never confuse love and lust._ I knew that I loved Finley, which meant Sherlock was something else, whether it be lust or not. Whatever it was, it made life in 221 Baker Street hard. Especially with being home all the time.

Nowhere that I had applied ever called me back, so I caved in and began applying at food service places. It took less than a week before I finally got a job: a waitress at the café next door. The owner knows Sherlock, John, and Mrs. Hudson all very well, so they hired me without even interviewing. It was quite nice being able to walk to work, especially since it was now mid spring and the weather felt wonderful.

I also thoroughly enjoyed the fact I worked with Marty. He was extremely funny, and always kept me smiling. I figured that's why he was so perfect for John. John was a little bit uptight, which I contributed to his army days. He needed someone who was laid back and upbeat, yet was also kind hearted and caring. John came down to the café quite often during Marty's breaks to eat with him. One day I could tell John was stressed out from a case, and while eating together Marty reached across the table and held his hands. Then, as Marty walked John to the door, he bent over and kissed the top of John's head. My heart melted at the sight, especially since Marty was a good eight inches taller than John. They made me unbelievably happy.

One day while working a familiar face sat at one of my tables. I walked over to take his order.

"Hello there Mycroft. What'll you be having today?"

"Good morning Azalea. I'll actually not be eating today, but I will take a cup of tea."

I went and got him his drink. When I returned he folded up his paper and set it down. "Azalea why don't you sit for a moment? I'd like to have a little chat."

"I don't think I can. I'm not on break yet."

"Nonsense, the second your manager sees that you're sitting with me they'll have someone else cover your tables."

I decided not to go against the eldest Holmes brother and sat in the chair across from him. "Alright then. What do you want to chat about?"

"I'd like to talk about Sherlock if that's alright."

A familiar lump grew in my throat. "Sherlock? What about him?"

"I'd like to talk about your personal relationship with him."

The familiar lump in my throat quickly turned into an unfamiliar tightening in my chest. "I don't understand."

"It seems you two have an air about you. You are very curious around him, and he is even more curious around you. He acts quite odd in your presence. Now I am what you would call an over-protective big brother. I do spy on him from time to time, but only because I care. So whenever I first noticed his behavior at the Christmas party, I knew I had to set up a personal meeting with you."

I sat still, trying to process what Mycroft was saying. "Sooo what is it you want to know?"

He shrugged a little. "Anything. Everything. Just your relationship in general with Sherlock."

I let out a heavy breath. "Well, there's not really much to say. He's always been kind of quiet around me, he used to be not so fond of me because of my closeness with John, after my run in with Moriarty he seems to care for me like a child, and I mean, that's pretty much it. We talk, yes, but not as much as he does with John or Mrs. Hudson."

Mycroft closely watched my face, and was quiet for a few moments before speaking up. "I guess I believed you and him were more than just simple flat mate acquaintances. It seems I was wrong."

Part of me felt sad, hearing the cold truth come from Sherlock's brother's mouth. But why?

I shook off the feeling. "Well I'm sorry to disappoint you. If anything changes I'll be sure to let you know."

He smiled at me, but it didn't seem sincere. "I guess I will let you get back to work now. Thank you for your time. And for the tea." He stood up and pushed his chair in.

"Anytime Mycroft." I watched as he walked towards the door. Then a thought came to me last second. "Wait, Mycroft."

He pivoted around, leaning slightly on his umbrella. "Yes?"

I walked up to him. "I just wanted to know…what did you mean when you said you first noticed Sherlock's behavior around me at the Christmas party?"

He smiled just a smidge. "He just stared at you quite a bit, and his tone with you was gentler. It was just…odd. Even for my brother." He looked down as if he were about to turn away, but hovered for just a moment, as if there were more to say. "Azalea, it that jewelry box he gave you safe and sound?"

I furrowed my brow. "Yes of course it is. It's on my dresser down in my room. Why do you ask?"

His eyes stayed fixated on the ground. "I just wanted to make sure it was safe. That was mummy's favorite jewelry box." He then looked up at me, gave me a small smile, and walked out the door.

I watched him as he left, feeling more emotionally confused than I did when he first came in.

* * *

Time had flown by, and before I knew it it was June. London grew warmer each day, and though it was never quite as hot as my small southern hometown, I was still thankful for the heat. Work at Speedy's was busier than ever. I wasn't raking in tons of money, but I was getting by happily.

After work one day I walked inside our building to find it smelled very nice. As I made my way up the stairs I could hear Mrs. Hudson laughing and talking to who I assumed to be John. I walked in the flat and turned into the kitchen, finding that I was correct. John was sitting at the table and Mrs. Hudson was stirring a pot on the stove.

John saw me first. "Why hello there miss Azalea."

Mrs. Hudson turned around and gave me a huge smile. "Azalea dear! Do you have any plans with Finley tonight?"

I shook my head. "No, he has to work."

"Oh good! Well, not good that he has to work. But good that you don't have plans. I've decided to make dinner for just the four of us. We've all been busy with work and boyfriends and such that we never really just sit and chat just us."

I agreed with Mrs. Hudson and helped her set the table. Sherlock arrived home a few minutes before dinner was served, and we all sat in our respective spots and began slurping down the delicious cold vegetable soup Mrs. Hudson had made. She said it was "gazpacho" and was one of her favorite recipes. John and Sherlock both talked about some of their recent cases, and I told them how much I miss going with them. Ever since I began working at Speedy's I hadn't been able to join the two and investigate crime scenes. True I was not much help since the cases no longer applied to me personally, but it was still much more fun than waiting tables. Mrs. Hudson told us of some interesting social events coming up, and towards the end of dinner she brought one up in particular.

"Azalea isn't your birthday soon?"

I smiled sheepishly down at my bowl. "Yes it's a week from tomorrow."

"A week from tomorrow?! Dear you give me no time to prepare! I need to buy you a present and put together a party and-"

"Actually Mrs. Hudson Finley said he was throwing me a party at a friend's house. He said you're all invited. And I don't want any gifts."

"Oh well that helps quite a bit. But you're silly if you think I'm not going to buy you anything. What kind of party is he putting on?"

I shrugged. "Honestly I'm not sure. He's been very secretive about the whole thing. All he's told me is it's just us five, Molly, Lestrade, Marty, some of his work friends I have met, and his family, and that I have to first stop by his sister's house on the way to pick something up. I don't know what though. He also mentioned something about it being very 'jazzy'. I'm not sure why he's making my birthday such a big deal. In England I've been able to drink since I turned eighteen. So twenty-one is not such a huge feat."

"It's because it's also an engagement party."

Our heads flew up as we stared in silence in Sherlock. He continued eating as if he had not said a word.

I was practically whispering as I spoke. "What…what do you mean?"

"An engagement party. It's a birthday slash engagement party. He's going to propose to you."

I sat frozen, not knowing what to say. John talked for me. "And what on earth makes you think that?"

Sherlock dabbed his napkin on his mouth. "One day I went through his phone's search history while he was in the bathroom and saw that he was tracking a package that was marked with express shipping. I searched the sender's name and came up with a jewelry store well known for their engagement rings."

John leaned forward slightly. "Okay then but what if he's just giving her a nice necklace or bracelet or something like that?"

"Well of course I thought that too. Until the day I overheard your conversation on the phone."

John's eyes widened a little. I looked between them. "John what conversation is he talking about?"

"Nothing Azalea."

I then turned to Sherlock. "What conversation Sherlock?"

He took a second before answering. "It was a conversation about you. Finley was asking John for his permission to marry you. John of course said yes."

We all remained silent for almost a whole minute. My mind was running a million miles a second. To be honest part of me wasn't surprised by the news. Finley had been talking about our future together more often lately, and the word "marriage" had been popping up a lot more frequently. He had taken me to a few jewelry stores to look at rings as well. So if anything this engagement news was old to me. Sure I have always wanted a surprise proposal that seriously took me off guard, but I had come to terms with the fact that was virtually impossible. Finley was a hopeless romantic, so the moment he informed me of this secretive party I had a strong feeling this was going to be it.

Still, Sherlock's intentions were to ruin my surprise, whether I had known about it or not. And that made me angry.

Apparently it also made John angry. "Sherlock would you care to join me for a moment up in my room?"

"But I'm not finished with my-"

"Sherlock." John barked. "Now."

John's tone was very serious and angry. He stood up and left the kitchen. Sherlock reluctantly stood and followed him. Once they were gone I allowed the tears that were fighting behind my eyes to roll down my cheeks. Mrs. Hudson reached over and gently rubbed my arm.

"I'm sorry Azalea. I know its hard dealing with Sherlock. He's a professional at ruining surprises." She paused for a moment, examining my face. "But that's not the problem, is it?"

I let it all out. "I just don't understand. I keep picturing a future with Finley and I'm genuinely happy with what I see. I've known about this engagement for a while now, but hearing that it's officially happening doesn't bring a warm happiness to my heart. If anything it scares me. I mean maybe that's normal. But it doesn't feel right. It feels wrong. And I just don't understand why.

She gave me a sad look. "Azalea do you remember what I told you a few months ago?"

I nodded. "Yes. Never confuse lust and love."

"So you've really thought hard about that?"

"Yes."

"And you've sorted out who pertains to lust and who pertains to love?"

"Yes."

"Are you sure?"

My eyes shot up to meet hers. She was staring hard at me. I furrowed my brow at her.

"What?"

"Are you sure you have it right?"

I looked down and focused on her words, processing them in my mind. I knew what she was saying, but my brain couldn't force itself to really grasp it. I was starting to get a pinching headache.

"I'm going to take a quick walk around the block. I need to clear my head."

Mrs. Hudson nodded. I put my plate in the sink and thanked her for the meal before heading down the stairs and out the door. The air was chilly but pleasant. I began walking down the sidewalk avoiding people as best I could. In my head I went through the list reasons why I loved Finley. I also went down the equally long list of why I hated Sherlock. I refused to think about what Mrs. Hudson told me.

I heard a taxi pull up next to me but figured if I ignored it it would go away. Instead the driver rolled down the window. "Need a lift?"

I smiled at the ground. "No thank you. I'm just headed…"

I trailed off as I looked up at the car. It was not a taxi, but a nice black government type vehicle. The back window was rolled down, and a familiar face looked back at me.

Moriarty smiled. "Long time no see."

I was completely frozen in place, panicked. My eyes darted about, trying to find ways to get away.

He read my mind. "I wouldn't do that if I were you. This is the easiest way to do things. If you run or scream or anything of the sort, you'll force me to do things the hard way. That way involves kidnapping and physical pain and other unfortunate consequences, plus the harm that it may bring any of your little friends who try to stop me. We don't want that now do we? So if I were you I would get in the car. Don't worry, we're not going anywhere in particular. We're just going to drive around and chat. Shouldn't take any more than ten minutes."

My stomach was twisted into knots. Why would I hop in a strange car with the man who had me hospitalized for a week and bed ridden for nearly a month? Then again, I knew he wasn't lying about finding a way to kidnap me. He always seemed to find a way. And the thought of him hurting anyone close to me…

I opened the car door and got in. He moved himself to the seat against the other window and the vehicle slowly began driving off.

He wasted no time in speaking. "I know how your little 'protectors' get all worried when you're gone for long periods of time so I'm just going to get right to the point. I need you to do something for me Evee."

I scoffed. "Why on earth would I ever do anything for you?!"

He smiled. I didn't like it. "I thought you might say that." He then took out his phone and dialed a number, placing his phone up to his ear. I stared at him, confused. He then smiled even bigger and started talking to the person on the other line. "Ah hello there! It's nice to speak to you again!" He paused. "Yes yes, I miss you too. Listen, I think there's someone here that would like to talk to you." He looked over and me and slowly held the phone out. I gingerly grabbed it from his hands and held the phone to my ear, not once breaking my stare from Moriarty.

"Hello?"

"Evee?! Evee is that you?!"

My breath suddenly caught. I felt nauseous. A majority of my body went numb. My heart instantly began pounding so hard it hurt.

"Mom? Mom?! Are you okay?! Has he hurt you at all?!" Her phone click off and the line went dead. "MOM!"

Moriarty leaned over and grabbed the phone from my petrified hand. My body began sweating profusely, and tears gushed down my face.

"Oh Evee don't you worry. Your mom is actually a lot safer than you are. She's in her home with the twins, she's not trapped or tied up or anything. She is safe and sound. And she'll remain that way as long as you cooperate."

My breathing was harsh and uneven. My throat was clenched, and my heart beat painfully in my chest. It hurt to speak, but I no longer had a choice.

"Tell me what I need to do."


	23. The Summer Exit

**This chapter is what I like to refer to as "the chapter that started it all".**

**One night after reading some Sherlock FanFiction I decided to listen to some music before bed. "Summertime Sadness" by Lana del Ray came on, and while listening to it I came up with an entire scene for Sherlock. I wrote down the scene, then soon developed other scenes that led up to that one in particular and even beyond. That was when I decided to stop writing with no purpose and start posting my own FanFiction work.**

**And now here we are, at the scene that actually began this story.**

* * *

_**Kiss me hard before you go,  
Summertime Sadness.  
I just wanted you to know,  
That baby you're the best.**_

* * *

I tried to pretend tonight was not the night.

I tried hard. I really did.

I tried to force myself to believe everything was going to be okay.

But no matter what I knew better.

I took a breath, inhaling as deeply as I could. The smell of the old house invaded my nose, triggering nostalgia. Finley's sister's house reminded me a lot of my grandmothers. Old, musty, rustic, yet quaint and inviting. I exhaled and stared at my reflection in the antique floor length mirror. I had turned off all the lights in the room, planning on leaving and heading back down the stairs. But I couldn't bring myself to leave. Not yet.

I looked back at the bed behind me. On it was the note Finley left for me. It said my surprise was hanging in the closet, and that he loved me and couldn't wait to see me. On the back were instructions on how to get to his friend's house. I turned back around, staring once again at Finley's present snuggly fit on me in the mirror.

It was a red dress. Not just any red dress. It was the most beautiful red dress I had ever seen in my life. It was strapless with a straight across neckline. The bodice was a velvet ribbed corset that fit to my waist and hips flawlessly. The bottom half was flowy and wavy and just as stunning as the top. It was a high-low style; the front hitting just above my knees and the back barely resting on the floor. Finley's sister had helped me put the dress on and laced up the back of the corset, all while continuously telling me I was the most beautiful girl in the world.

And for the past hour, I genuinely believed her.

I know I should be heading downstairs now, but I can't do it. Not yet at least. I want to cherish these last few moments of being the most beautiful girl in the world. So I continue to stare at my reflection. My gold jewelry went well against my olive skin. My blonde hair was teased and pinned into a big beauty queen style updo. My makeup was dramatic yet wasn't harsh. I had on a thicker, longer pair of false eyelashes than my usual ones. My red lipstick made my lips look even fuller than they already were. My face looked like a photoshopped picture from a magazine, and I took a minute to appreciate what it must feel like to have no flaws. Even my body looked like a model's. The high front of the skirt portion showed off my long legs, and the floor length back hid the cellulite and stretch marks on the backs of my thighs. The corseted top not only cinched in my tiny waist, but it also smoothed down my dreadful muffin tops. And though the dress was strapless, my big hair and long earrings made my manly shoulders seem petite and delicate.

Any flaw and insecurity I've ever had was now gone, erased from my body and mind.

And I was truly the most beautiful girl in the world.

I began to sway in the mirror, watching as my dress flowed seamlessly around me. The swaying soon turned into dancing as I gracefully began twirling and moving around on my tiptoes. I closed my eyes as I felt once again what it was like to be careless and free and _alive_. The world in my soul was bright and electric, feeding my flaming desire to be anything I could ever want. I danced around more, my adrenaline pushing me into a dream-like state, my conscience no longer tethered down to earth. I allowed my whole being to relish in a happiness that only I could provide. My happy place.

A knock at the door made my personal paradise retract back inside its hole. The warm euphoric feeling I had worked so hard to achieve was now gone, evaporating into the cold damp air around me.

"Azalea, is everything okay?"

I had to remind myself how to talk. "Yes. I'm fine. I'll be down in a minute." I remained silent as I heard Finley's sister walk back down the stairs. I looked back in the mirror and sighed, building up the courage to leave my safe place in the dark moonlit room. Finley's sister (I really needed to remember her name) and Sherlock were both downstairs waiting for me. John and Mrs. Hudson were already at the party, and I had insisted Sherlock to go with them, but he knew I was clueless when it came to driving around England and that I knew nothing about British traffic patterns or signs. He was right, so for the night he was my personal chauffer.

Making my plan even more difficult to commit to.

I slipped on my gold heels and opened the bedroom door. I took a deep breath and walked towards the top of the stairs. I heard voices, and before making my way down I peeked over the railing. Down below near the bottom of the steps were Sherlock and the sister, chatting away in low voices. I couldn't hear what they were saying, but was instantly jealous of the fact the sister was flirting with Sherlock…and the fact he had a giant smile on his face. I reminded myself that it didn't matter, that after tonight none of this would ever matter to me ever again. I also told myself that I was the most beautiful girl in the world, and began making my way down the wooden steps.

The pair quickly whirled around, hearing my heels clink their way down. I looked at the sister who was gaping with pure joy. And then I looked at Sherlock, and suddenly my heart fell. He was staring at me, mouth slightly open, eyes wide and shocked. His stare originally showed signs of desire, surprise, impressed even. But now, as he stared at my face and not my body, I saw pain, weakness, and guilt. He was about to drive the most beautiful girl in the world into the kneeling arms of another man. And it _killed_ him.

He of course was hard **not** to stare at. He was wearing a perfectly tailored suit, fitting his slender body to a tee. The black pants and jacket were cleanly pressed, and the white button up underneath had the top button undone, showing a little extra skin. He was by far the sexiest man in the world.

And he deserved better than this.

I reached the bottom of the steps and walked up to Sherlock, nearly standing toe to toe. We didn't once break eye contact. His voice was low and gentle.

"You are beautiful."

Tears tried to make their way up, but I fought them back. I couldn't break. Not yet.

"Thank you Sherlock. You don't look so bad yourself."

He smiled and looked down, biting his lip…wait, did he really bite his lip? He was making this night terribly hard. The air between us was thick with thoughts unspoken, yet we said nothing else to each other.

The sister uncomfortably intervened. "I was just telling Sherlock exactly how to get there. It will take a good forty-five minutes, so you two should probably get on the road soon."

I thanked her for her help and said goodbye before heading out to the car. Sherlock opened the passenger door for me and held my hand as I attempted to fit my dress inside. After quite a bit of maneuvering he was able to shut my door and got in on his own side, comfortably sliding behind the wheel. I had never seen Sherlock drive before, and for some reason I found the sight incredibly attractive.

We headed down the main road that ran along the coast. I could occasionally see the ocean. The full moon reflected beautifully on the water, lighting up the dark sky. I kept my face close to the window, the cool surface relaxing me slightly. My breathing created a small patch of fog on the glass\, and without giving it much thought I drew a heart before it faded away.

"You don't have to do this Evee."

My heart jumped as I whirled around to face him. His eyes were fixed on the road, and his hands were clenched tightly on the wheel. My whole body tensed up. What did he mean by that? Does he know? How would he have found out?

"What do you mean?"

"This proposal. This engagement. You don't have to do it. You don't have to…" he trailed off, not wanting to speak his mind.

I released the breath I was holding in. He didn't know. Good. "I don't have to what, say yes?"

He blinked hard but remained still. "I…I feel responsible for all this."

"What? How?"

"Because if it weren't for me forcing you to talk to him in the diner you two never would have met. He would never have fallen for you, and you wouldn't have to marry him."

"Sherlock I'm not being forced to marry him. It's my decision as well."

"But do you love him?"

I hesitated. I was getting too close to the edge. I needed to back away. "Yes."

"Do you?"

"Yes Sherlock I do! I love him!" The last thing I wanted to do was fight with Sherlock, especially in my current situation, but he was breaking the walls down that I had built up so carefully for this night. And it wasn't a total lie. I did love Finley. I just wasn't _in_ love with him. And there's a difference.

Sherlock spoke lowly. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay." I glanced over at the dash. "You know, for someone who doesn't want me to do this, you're going pretty fast."

He looked down and took his foot off the gas. The car slowed down some. He had been going 29 over the speed limit. If anything I wished he would go 29 under the speed limit. I wanted to take as long as possible to get to the party. I wanted to postpone the future as much as I could. I turned back to the window, my breathing getting shakier the more I thought about my fate. Tears took another try at gathering in my eyes, but I would not allow it. I couldn't.

Suddenly a warm hand wrapped around mine. I didn't look down in fear it would really end me. I did though open up my palm and clutched on. I began using my thumb to rub his, as if to comfort him. In reality though I think it was more of a way to comfort myself. Unfortunately the comfort did not last long. We pulled down the street that was listed on my note, and soon a beautiful home appeared, silhouetted against the moonlit sky and gleaming ocean water.

The house was more like a miniature mansion. It was big and white, large columns lining the front, the entire driveway made of cobblestone and lead straight to the front steps. Near the front of the house placed in the middle of the cobblestone road was a large fountain, lowly lit from under the water. We followed the curved path that wrapped around the fountain and drove to the front, joining the small pack of cars that were already parked. This place was beautiful.

Sherlock let go of my hand and got out, quickly making his way around the car to open my door. Then he grabbed my hand again, this time to help me get out. My foot caught, and I slightly stumbled forward putting my free hand out to catch my fall. My palm hit the stone ground, but other than that I was fine. I managed to get all the way out, then looked down at my hand.

"Lovely, I've got dirt all over me."

"It's not all over you it's just on your hand. Go wash it off in the fountain."

I smiled, thinking about how informal this was. I carefully made my way to the fountain, making sure I didn't catch a heel on the cobblestone. Once there I gently as possible put my hands in the water and rubbed them together. After the dirt was all off I stood straight up, nearly jumping at the sight of Sherlock right next to me. He was holding out a white handkerchief. I grabbed it and dried my hands off.

"Thanks." I handed it back to him. He stuffed the wet cloth into his pocket.

"Not a problem." He smiled, but it wasn't genuine. We each waited for the other to move, but neither of us did. I stared hard into his eyes. They were full of sadness, guilt, defeat. They looked a lot like his eyes the night he revealed himself to John. I swallowed hard. He took a small step closer and was now hovering over me. My heart did that crazy thing where it stopped yet pounded at the same time.

"I will always have your back Evee. I will always stand by you in everything you do. I promise."

My thoughts were going crazy in my head. _Evee this is wrong. Evee don't feel that way. You can't. You must stick to the plan. Just thank him and walk inside. You must get inside. Evee listen to your head not your heart. Think of what all is at stake. Evee-_

Suddenly my thoughts were interrupted by hands gently caressing my face and a soft pair of lips tenderly pressing against mine. I could no long force myself to fight. I wrapped my arms around Sherlock's neck, pulling my mouth harder against his. His hands made his way down, feeling my tiny waist. He grabbed my hips and squeezed. I entangled my fingers in his hair, tugging just slightly. This kiss was unlike any I had ever experienced before. It made me feel electric. It made me feel on fire. It made me miss something that wasn't there. It evoked feelings I could never describe. It made me start to cry.

That's when I pulled away. No. I couldn't do this. I was failing. I couldn't do anything that would make me cry. Crying shows remorse. And once you start crying, it's hard to stop.

"We need to go inside. They'll start wondering where we are."

"Evee-"

"Come on Sherlock we much go."

"Evee please-"

"Sherlock, I have to do this. I have to."

I began walking away, knowing deep down it was true. I had no choice.

* * *

The party was bigger than I had originally expected. This was definitely an inconvenience for my plans. I had thought there would be twenty, maybe twenty-five guests. Instead there were at least fifty, maybe more. Everyone was dressed up nicely in fun cocktail dresses, though of course my dress was the grandest of them all. Finley was wearing an old school suit, and jazz music played through the entire house. It was very apparent the theme of the night was influenced by the roaring twenties.

I tried my hardest to have a good time. I found John and Mrs. Hudson, spending as much time with them as possible. I needed it. As tempting as it was I refused any alcoholic drinks, knowing they might mess with my brain when I needed to be as focused as possible. I stayed away from Finley as much as I could, which made me feel guilty. I wish there was a way I could explain to him that he wasn't exactly what I was avoiding, but the proposal was. I wanted to postpone the end as much as I could.

But you cannot run forever, and soon it was time.

Finley called everyone into the main living room, and I slowly followed the crowd. Finley pulled me up to the front with him. He began making a speech. He thanked everyone for coming. Then he made some funny joke in which everyone laughed. Then he stated that he reason the party was themed this way is because I one time mentioned how much I loved "The Great Gatsby". That led into talking about me. It was then that I no longer could hear his words.

Instead I heard Moriarty's repeating in my ears. _"Let's see how good of an actress you really are Evee."_

I snapped back to reality right in time. Finley was just finishing up a story, then turned to me.

"Azalea. I love you more than you'll ever know…"

_No…_

"I know we've only been together a few short months…"

_Stop this. Please…_

"But you know what they say, 'when you know you know'!"

_This isn't fair…_

"You have become my best friend and the love of my life…"

_I can't do this…_

"And I plan on spending the rest of my life with you…"

_I don't deserve this…_

"That being said, Azalea Claire Weston…"

He lowered himself down to one knee.

_**No…**_

"Will you marry me?"

The world moved in slow motion as I looked down. Finley's prince charming face was staring up at me, his outstretched hands holding a small box. Inside the box was a big beautiful ring. The biggest I had ever seen in person and this close. I picked up the ring, and it was then that I noticed my hands were shaking.

_This is it Evee. This is the moment. Your scene starts now._

I slid the ring down my left hand ring finger. It fit perfectly. I held it up in the air, staring at it. I put my right hand on my chest sweetly.

Finley spoke from the ground. "Do you like it?"

I traced my right hand down my skin, slipping it under the top of my dress. I used my fingers and felt the cold metal stowed in my cleavage.

I looked down at Finley. "Baby…"

I then took the pistol out from the top of my dress and put it against his head.

"…it's perfect."


	24. The Grand Finale

_Breathe Evee._

_Remember to breathe._

I put up the façade that I had worked so hard on. I turned my heart off and my eyes blind. I no longer saw individual people. Instead I saw a meld bodies. I would no longer see people I knew and loved. I now saw strangers. People that I had never met. An audience.

They were an audience. And nothing more.

I looked down at the man kneeling in front of me. He stared up at me, horrified. The gun in my hand pressed hard against his forehead.

"_Azalea?"_

Another part of my personal training kicked in. Azalea was just a word to me now. It had no correlation to who I was personally. I had done a pretty good job of not letting that name get to me. Still, I figured I might as well not push it. I needed to get out of there fast.

"Stand up."

I kept the gun on the boy's head as he stood up. Luckily my heels made me just tall enough to be eye level. I moved the gun to nudge nicely under his chin. All I had to do was smile, and my character came out.

"Good boy. Now if you would be so kind to join the others." I looked around the room as the boy walked backward. All eyes were on me. This was my moment.

_Remember what you practiced._

_Be your character._

_Be Moriarty._

I smiled at the small crowd. "I would like to personally thank you all for coming out this fine evening. I'm sorry the night had to end on such a sour note, but the good news is I don't plan on hurting anyone as long as we all cooperate."

"Azalea what is going on? What are you doing?"

I had prepared for these questions and took a deep breath.

"I guess you could say my job here is done. I'm no longer needed. My employer has requested for me to pull out of the case. He said I've done a spectacular job, and is going to give me a promotion."

"What are you talking about who is you 'employer'?"

I looked over at the short man who had spoken up. My brain kept wanting to say his name but I wouldn't allow it.

"Take a guess." I narrowed my eyes and smirked.

His eyes widened as realization washed over him. "No."

"Truth hurts, doesn't it?"

"No, no, it's not the truth. If he's hurt you Azalea just tell us and we'll help you. Is he here right now? Forcing you to do this?"

"Oh please no one can force me to do anything. In fact I volunteered for the case!"

"But…Azalea, I know you're lying. He _hurt_ you."

"Ha! He would never hurt me! I'm his prized possession! I'm his favorite! The time in the dance studio was truly an accident. I had no idea that hole was there and after I spray painted all those mirrors I tried to hide in the corner and fell. He never did that to me."

"You're lying."

I rolled my eyes. "What more do you want from me?! I flew here, moved into your flat, befriended you knowing it would get your boyfriend to reappear, pretended to solve all those crime scenes, and all the while I was gathering up as much information as possible to send back to the boss. And honestly it was way easier than I had originally believed. There's the truth. Take it or leave it."

The man was angry and confused, tears welling up in his eyes. "But…those cases…I watched you solve them! That was all you investigating!"

I looked him dead in the eye, speaking my words carefully. "Nobody could be that clever."

Moriarty told me to use those exact words. I wasn't sure what they meant, but they hit the man hard, and he stepped back against the group, looking as if he had just seen a ghost.

"Now I best be going. My work here is done, and I have a nice vacation awaiting me." I began walking forward but was instantly cut off by a very tall man with blue eyes and dark curly hair.

He spoke with a low and emotionless voice. "You're not going anywhere."

I put my gun up, aiming for his chest, and he at the same moment pulled a gun on me. I had not planned for this, and was definitely taken back by the sight of gun aimed at me. Still, I didn't let my emotions show.

"You don't think I'll shoot you?"

His voice remained deep and monotonous. "I don't know, but I'll risk it. I'm not afraid of death."

"Move."

"Azalea-"

"I said move!"

"Evee…"

Suddenly my emotional force field glitched. I hadn't prepared for _that_ name. Quickly I regained control before my character vanished. I narrowed my eyes at the man, then moved my arm, taking aim now at the short man I was talking to before. His best friend.

"Still want to risk it?"

A whirling fear suddenly filled the tall man's eyes. He looked between me and his friend, then finally lowered his weapon and moved to the side. I smiled up at him and made my way to the front door, grabbing the set of keys I had watched my chauffer set down earlier.

I turned around for a last time. "Anyone who tries to follow me or find me will die." The group remained silent as I quickly made my way out the door.

I ran to the car, frantically putting the key in the door to unlock it. I rushed inside and turned it on, nearly burning out as I hit the gas. The car barreled down the cobblestone path and curved around down the long driveway. Near the end of it I saw a light blinking on and off. I knew this was my stop. I parked the car in such a way that it blocked off anyone trying to get in or out, and I shoved the keys down the front of my dress. I took off my heels and ran to the blinking light on the side of the main road. It wasn't hard to find him standing there, waiting for me.

Moriarty handed me a helmet that barely fit over my hair and a leather jacket that was a half size too big. I took the long tail of my dress and brought it between my legs, holding the large amount of fabric in front of my stomach. He took the gun from me and put in a holster.

"You're going to have to hold your shoes." He helped me onto the back of the motorcycle then put on his own helmet. I wrapped my arms tightly around his waist and sat as close up against him as possible. He lifted the kick stand and revved the engine, taking off down the dark highway, going opposite of the way I came.

Even though I no longer had an audience I still felt the need to stay in character. I couldn't relinquish the persona I had worked so hard on. Anytime I did waver my throat started to close and my chest tightened up, so I forced my new self forward; I allowed my mind to become consumed. The cold air mixed with the high speed made my bare legs numb, but I didn't mind. I looked out my helmet with new eyes, taking in my surroundings. I shockingly felt content. I had always loved motorcycle rides, and the beautiful landscape around me was made even more gorgeous with the full moons' light.

It didn't take long before reaching a small country house standing alone on a hill. The lights were on and I could see people moving around inside. Moriarty pulled up through the driveway and parked the bike next to an old pickup truck. He got off first and took off his helmet, then helped me down, carefully making sure my legs nor dress touched the hot motorcycle parts. I took off my helmet and jacket, then followed him up to the door. It had a "Welcome" mat in front and a "Home Sweet Home" decoration hanging below the peephole. He unlocked the door and led me in.

The first thing I noticed was the warmth. The second thing was the smell of baked goods. The next thing was the sound of happy conversation spilling from down the hall. Moriarty took my helmet and jacket and placed them on an entryway table then turned left down the hall towards where the noise was coming from. I slowly followed him, not sure what to say when I saw the faces that accompanied the voices. We entered a kitchen then turned right into a dining room. There was a table in the middle of the small room and at it sat four men, all eating and laughing. When they saw Moriarty they smiled and cheered, welcoming him home.

"Look who's back!"

"It's about damn time! We were going to wait for you to eat but you were taking too long."

"I'm presuming everything went as planned?"

To that Moriarty stepped to the side and looked at me. I filled the space, walking into the dining room light.

"Boys, this is Evee. She is our newest member of the family." I stood silently and smiled, unsure of what I was supposed to say.

"You sure do clean up nice, don't you?"

I looked to the boy who had said that and suddenly realized who it was.

"Rupert." I nearly whispered his name, memories from my first day in London rushing back.

He smiled big and waved slightly. "Hello! Sorry about the whole kidnapping and drugging you thing. Hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me."

I responded in the most unexpected way: I _laughed._ "Yeah I guess I'll let it slide. Just this once." My smile was big as the others chuckled at my words. It was then made obvious to me I was still in character. I still hadn't come back down to earth. I didn't think too hard on it, not wanting to ruin my act.

Moriarty introduced me to the boys. There was Trevor who was the second one that helped kidnap me so long ago; Viktor, an adorable baby-faced boy no older than me who was from Russia; and Sebastian, a middle-aged man who was built like a brick house and was definitely rough around the edges. After that Moriarty made us both bowls of delicious meat stew. We all sat at the table and ate, talking and laughing and messing around. I felt awkward eating with my fancy dress and makeup and hair, but no one seemed to care too much.

When we had all finished Moriarty told Viktor to give me a tour of the house. He showed me the kitchen and living room, then took me to the opposite end of the house and showed me the bathroom and office/workout room. After that we went upstairs and down the hall, passing four closed doors.

"This room is Moriarty and Sebastian's, this is the bathroom, this one is Rupert and Trevor's, and this one is ours."

I looked up at the child-like boy and furrowed my brow. "Ours?"

He gave a small shrug. "We only have three bedrooms. Don't worry there are two beds."

I sighed. "I guess I don't have much of a choice do I?"

He gave me a sincere smile. "I promise you have nothing to worry about. I don't bite."

I found the remark oddly comforting and went ahead and opened the bedroom door. I turned on the light and gasped. All of my things were there, packed away neatly in boxes against the wall. There was a dresser just for me, and half the closet was cleared out. I also had my own bedside table and lamp, and even though my bed was a twin size, it was still bigger than my old one. It was properly made and had four pillows at the head. I slowly walked forward and peeked inside the boxes. Everything was there.

"So how do you like your room?"

I turned around to see Rupert leaning in the doorway.

"How…?"

"The moment you left your apartment, we all four rushed in and took all your stuff. That's why Moriarty told you to gradually start gathering all your belongings and take them to your room. We also searched for anything else that was obviously yours such as your toothbrush and house slippers. Then we sprayed the entire building with a neutralizing chemical so even your scent was not left behind. For the most part it will be as if you never existed."

I inhaled sharply, forcing my walls up, trying to not allow any memories to flood back.

I had to continue acting. I had no choice.

"I'm impressed."

He laughed a little. "Yeah well we've been doing this for a while."

I smiled. "Well thank you for getting it all for me."

"Of course Evee. I'll let you get to unpacking then." He started to leave, then pivoted back. "Oh, and one last thing. You do remember your mission is not yet complete right?"

I closed my eyes and sighed. "Yeah. I remember."

"Alright. Just wanted to make sure." With that he turned and left. I listened to his footsteps as he made his way down the hall then down the stairs. I looked back into my boxes and began unloading. It was then I felt thankful I really didn't have many belongings, and was nearly done before I knew it. The last box had random trinkets and such in it, and while removing the contents I came across a beautiful antique glass jewelry box. I stared at the box, considering for just a moment on letting my thoughts run free. I quickly shook off the idea and placed the box on top of my dresser. Once I had finished I untied my dress and wiggled my way out of it, finally able to change into a more comfortable robe.

I knew what I had to do next and took a deep breath, making my way down to the bathroom. My props were already set out for me on the counter. I looked in the mirror and stared.

_This reflection no longer resembles who you are._

_You are someone knew._

_Someone different._

_Someone independent and fearless._

_You are a soldier._

_And you must do what you have to do._

I reached down and grabbed the scissors, using my left hand to grab the top of my hair and pulled up. The strings that held my extensions in were now showing and I began snipping at each one. The process was long and tiring, and took two hours to complete.

When I was done removing the extensions I then chopped all the remaining long hair of mine that was natural. The bald spots where I had pulled due to my trichotillomania were now a mess of three-inch-long baby hairs. They were soft and thin, never before seeing daylight. I cut the rest of my hair to match the length of the new ones then stuck my head in the sink, rinsing my wild tufts. After a quick towel dry I then grabbed the box of hair color on the sink and applied it. It was a dark brown with a very slight tint of red to it. I hopped in the shower after ten minutes and rinsed away the dye and washed myself. Turning off the water I wrapped a towel around myself and dried off, putting back on the robe. It was then that I decided to face myself and turned to the mirror.

I looked…weird.

My long thick blonde extensions equaled my body out more than I had realized. Now that I had a pixie cut - no, _shorter_ than a pixie cut – my facial features seemed a lot more prominent. My nose, eyes, and lips all looked blown up, and my face looked much rounder. I've always had a pear-shaped body, but my lack of hair made my lower half appear a lot larger. It was hard to recognize the girl staring back at me.

Then again, wasn't that the point?

I didn't stare for too long, realizing I might endanger myself by allowing emotion to show. I gathered the long blonde strips of hair off the counter top and turned off the bathroom light, making my way quickly down to my room. I flung the door open then whirled around to shut it hastily yet quietly. When I turned back around I nearly jumped. Viktor was sitting cross-legged on his bed, staring at me wide eyed.

"Sorry to scare you." His thick Russian accent made his low mumble hard to decipher.

"It's fine. I'm fine." I wasn't sure what I meant by that.

He smiled. "You look good. Short hair suits you."

His remark should have filled me with relieved confidence. Instead it brought me to the verge of tears. My throat began closing, and I choked on my words. "Thank you."

Even though I put on a smile I knew Viktor could see right through me. He smiled sympathetically then stood up, walking towards me. He hovered over me then grabbed my hands, holding them tight.

"The first night is hard." His voice was low and soft. "The second night is not quite as hard. Same with the third, fourth, and fifth night. The sixth and seventh nights get harder, and the tenth night is one of the worst. About two weeks in it will seem unbearable. Your mind will go crazy and your body will go numb. It is only after the first month has passed that your soul will finally begin to rest, and you will no longer feel troubled. It is around the third month that is the worst of all."

I couldn't keep the words back. "Why is it the worst?"

Though the corners of his mouth turned up, he was not what I considered to be smiling. He rubbed his thumbs over my hands and stared at them as he did so.

"Because in the third month it finally hits you." He looked up at me sorrowfully. "You realize you have completely forgotten about the life you used to live. The old you will appear as a dream. You will try to think back to the days before these, and you will not succeed. Memories will turn into simple thoughts constructed in a time of boredom. Past events will become meaningless 'what ifs'. This metamorphosis is gradual of course and is helped by the mental training you go through each day. The process itself is not as torturous as it may sound, and is actually, in a way, easy. It's the one day sometime during the third month that you realize exactly how easy it was to give up your past life and render to the new you. It is on that day that you fully see what you have done, and you obsess over the fact you cannot go back. That is the hardest day."

Silence fell gently around us as I stared into the young boy's eyes. His eyes too had tears desperately trying to flood over. For a brief moment I could have believed I was looking into a mirror.

"_I'm scared."_ My words were hardly audible as the harsh whisper escaped my lips without my mind giving them a second thought.

Viktor exhaled deep and slow. He blinked a bit then leaned in, pressing his lips tenderly to mine. Although I could not explain it, I knew in my heart this wasn't a "kiss". It was, more or less, a gesture to provide comfort. It was not in any way romantic. To me it felt like a simple way to say "I know. I understand."

He pulled away and, one hand still holding on to mine, pulled me to where his bed was. He opened his bedside table drawer and took out a bottle of pills. Twisting the cap he opened it and shook out one single white pill. He held it up and looked at me.

"I will give you one of these every night. They aid in getting you to sleep quick and make sure you stay asleep. They also affect your brain so that you don't dream. You don't have to take them, but I strongly suggest you do."

He held his hand out and I mirrored the gesture. He placed the small pill in my palm then handed me a glass of water. I took it quick, not allowing myself any time to weigh my options. Viktor watched me as I gulped down the medication.

"I will keep the bottle in my nightstand drawer and give you one each night. You will only ever need one. And don't even think about trying to take the whole bottle's worth and kill yourself. Because of the way they affect your mind death would be far from peaceful. Your body would become paralyzed and you would appear asleep but the overstimulation in your brain would intensify the pain that you would feel as your nerves practically melt due to the hyperactivity screaming through you."

I stared at the young Russian as he explained the brutal process as if he were talking about the weather. My face must have looked terrified, for he quickly pushed away the topic and once again grabbed both my hands.

"I trust you. I know you'll do just fine. I will be here the whole time, standing by you and helping you through this. I won't let you fail. I promise." He rested his forehead against mine.

I felt a strange warmth fill my stomach as the words seeped into my heart.

"Thank you." This time the words came out strong and sincere.

Viktor smiled. "You're welcome. Now you should get in bed. You've had a long day and you'll need your sleep.

My bed was extremely cozy, and as soon as my head hit the pillow I could feel my eyelids grow heavy. The pill took affect quickly, and I never had a chance to tell my old life good bye as I drifted into a deep dreamless sleep.

* * *

**I am SO SORRY about the nearly 2 week hiatus! This chapter was difficult to write! I hope you can all forgive me!  
And, as always, I appreciate all your reviews more than you know! Thank you thank you thank you!**


	25. The New Life

AUGUST

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SEPTEMBER

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OCTOBER

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NOVEMBER

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DECEMBER

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JANUARY

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I looked in the tiny mirror as I applied my favorite red lipstick. I checked my makeup all around then put everything back into my clutch. I looked at my watch. 5:13 pm. My client usually arrived around five, but I decided to give him a few extra minutes just in case he was running a little behind today. I inhaled deeply and held it in, counting to ten, then slowly released. I rounded the corner and walked down the sidewalk, the light flutters of snow drifting around me. The pub's "Open" sign hung crooked on the door and I considered fixing it as I went inside. The lighting was dim and the people were scarce. I immediately recognized my client sitting alone at the bar and took a seat eights stools away.

"Whiskey. On the rocks. Please." The bartender smiled and nodded, walking away to make my drink.

And that's all it took.

"It's only the first Monday of the year and already you're alone in a pub drinking before the clocks even struck six?"

I looked down the bar and locked eyes with the familiar stranger, pretending to be surprised by his comment.

I laughed a little. "Yeah, pretty pathetic, isn't it?"

"I guess that would depend on the reason."

I smiled at him then looked down, twiddling my thumbs. "I got stood up. Again. You'd think after the first time I'd learn my lesson. But apparently even three times wasn't enough to teach me." The bartender set down my drink. "Thank you." I immediately lifted the glass and took a sip quick enough to bypass my tongue.

"Well I suppose that's a good enough reason. Although I do agree, you definitely should have learned your lesson by now."

I smiled and played with my glass. "Apparently fourth time's a charm. I will definitely not be making that mistake again." I looked up to find the man staring at me, smirking. "Sorry, I don't usually complain to strangers."

He stood up and made his way down towards me, taking the seat next to mine. He held out his hand. "Gerald Fillmore."

I firmly grabbed his hand and shook it, pretending I had never heard the name before. "Scarlett Jones."

"A beautiful name to go with a beautiful face. I should not have expected any differently."

I gave him a smile that was all too big and fluttered my eyelashes playfully. "It's very nice to meet you Mr. Fillmore."

"Everyone else calls me Mr. Fillmore. You can call me Gerald."

"Aww I feel so special!"

The next hour went along the usual way. He was a typical client, too dull to even remotely realize how over exaggerated I was in my flirting. At this point it would have been nice to have more of a challenge on my missions. This job was becoming all too easy. I'd have to mention it to Jim later on.

Finally conversation drew thin and I put on a yawn and stretched adorably. "I guess I had better get going. Since that mistake of a man lied to me, I now have nowhere to stay. I should probably start walking and hope to come up on a motel or something. Wish me luck!"

I shifted as if I were getting ready to leave and, as expected, he put his hand on my wrist, stopping me.

"My dear you have no place to stay?! You don't even have a car?!"

I shrugged a little and pursed my lips. "I guess I'll figure something out."

"Scarlett, you do realize it is dark out and there is snow flooding the streets."

I looked down and bit my lip, acting like I was in deep thought. The truth was that I was waiting for my client to make his move.

I didn't have to wait long.

"Listen, Scarlett, I know we just met and all, but if you want, you may come stay at my place. Just for the night, until you have made other arrangements and get on your feet. I have a spare bedroom you can stay in. I don't want you to think of me negatively for asking this of you, but I would not feel comfortable allowing you to roam the streets at night alone in the cold."

I gave him big, enduring eyes. "Are you sure? I would hate to be a burden."

He chuckled somewhat. "Nonsense! You are a very sweet girl and a pleasure to be around. You deserve better."

With that we left the pub. On the way out the door I made a point to straighten out the open sign.

* * *

I walked around the guest room slowly, pacing, waiting for the opportune moment. I was hoping my client would maybe watch the television for a little while, or maybe read or something. It seemed he wasn't going to be in bed at his usual time. I looked at my watch. 7:47 pm. My ticket out would be here at exactly eight thirty and would remain put for no more than two minutes. I had less than an hour. I needed to act fast.

A quick knock at my door broke me from my thoughts.

"Come in!"

He peeked his head in and smiled. "How do you like your room? Do you need anything?"

My brain worked fast, seizing a last minute opportunity.

"No, I'm alright. I was actually about to head downstairs and make some tea."

"Oh no miss I'll do that. You just stay up here and relax. I'll be back in a minute."

I listened close, hearing his heavy footsteps fade down the hall then down the noisy staircase. That's when I quickly made my way to the door and opened it slowly. I tip toed as fast as I could to the office a few rooms away. The center of the floorboards were creaky, so I skidded on the edge of the hall up against the wall. I carefully opened the office door and snuck inside. His laptop was on his desk facing away from me. I wasted no time and went to the desk, moving the mouse and opening a protected search of the whole computer. It took only seconds to spot the ghost folder marked "BANK". I pulled out the flash drive I had in my pocket and stuck it in, copying the folder's contents onto the drive. It was taking longer than expected and I began to worry. I looked at my watch. 8:02 pm.

Suddenly I heard footsteps nearing the bottom of the stairway. I frantically watched the data being moved on the screen in front of me, mentally screaming at it to go faster. The footsteps were now halfway up the staircase. My heart raced as the blue bar neared the 100% mark. It finally finished and I worked fast to close all the windows. I ripped out the drive as the man walked into the room.

I jumped almost a foot off the ground. "Oh God you scared me to death!"

He also looked slightly taken back. "Oh my I'm so sorry I didn't mean to! I figured you heard me coming down the hall.

I shook my head innocently. "Guess not." I looked around a bit. "Oh and I'm sorry about, you know, being in here. I really shouldn't snoop. I just saw all the books and it peaked my interest. You have lots of interesting things."

My client smiled proudly and set the tray of tea he was holding on a small side table. "You most definitely do not need to apologize! If anything I'm flattered! I don't have many guests over, so my prized possessions never get noticed. I'm glad someone else is enjoying them as much as I do."

I smiled sweetly and looked around at all the trinkets on his desk. I hadn't really noticed before, but he _did_ have an impressive collection of old world treasures. Lots of old maps and oceanic souvenirs. There were also lots and lots of pictures of an old trading ship. In all the photos the ship had "THE RIGBY" carved into its wooden side.

I briefly glanced at my watch. 8:09 pm. Shit.

"It's getting late. I should probably be off to bed. Thank you for the tea."

The man looked confused as I grabbed a cup from the tray and swiftly walked out. The second I was in my room I closed the door and got on the guest bed. I swallowed hard as I heard heavy creaking getting closer and closer. It stopped right outside my door.

"Do you need anything before bed?"

"No thank you! I'm fine!"

The man hesitated. "Are you sure? Do you have enough blankets?"

I rolled my eyes in frustration. "I'm good. Don't worry. Goodnight!"

Though he didn't respond I knew he was still outside my door. Dammit, how long was he planning on standing there?! I looked at my watch. 8:13 pm. Seventeen minutes seems like a long enough time, but with these sort of missions you never know. My client finally turned and left. But instead of going into his own bedroom he went downstairs. And into the kitchen.

Shit shit _shit_. The kitchen was not only placed directly below me, but it also overlooked the front lawn. I decided not to leave just yet, hoping the man would soon find his late night snack and go to bed.

But he didn't. I slowly took a look at my watch. 8:28 pm. I had run out of time waiting. I now had no choice. My mind went into high gear as I grabbed my tall black boots I had taken off earlier. Lining the insides were two thin cables. I connected them and fastened one end to a bed post. The other end clipped onto my belt buckle. I grabbed my boots, checked my pockets to make sure I had the flash drive, then made my way to the window hoping for the best. The window lifted silently thank heavens, and without giving myself a second to think it through I leaned out the window and began making my way down. I continued reminding myself that I could do this.

_Just like you practiced Evee. Just pretend this is another practice._

Before I knew it my feet hit solid ground. I unclipped the wire from my belt buckle and bolted down the long green lawn. I tried my best to remain in the shadows of the tall hedges lining the yard, but the full moon gave off too much light. I could easily be spotted. My heart began hurting as I sprinted, but I didn't pay it much attention. I could only think of not being seen. It was very possible my client could see me from the kitchen. I hoped I would not hear the sound of the front door opening and the man yelling at me. That thought made me run faster.

Soon I got to the front gate. I slipped through the cold metal bars and turned right. Only a few yards away was the car, parked but turned on. I breathlessly grabbed the door handle and fell inside.

"Go!" Even though I never heard anyone chase me, I wanted to get out of there as fast as I could just in case. The car lurched forward. I threw the boots I had been carrying in my hands on the ground and stripped off my cold wet socks.

"You ran barefoot? Ew."

I looked up at Rupert smiling at me from the passenger seat. I gave him a breathless laugh.

"As much as I love running in heels, I wanted to get out of there as fast as I could."

"Why did something go wrong?"

"Please tell me you got the files." Trevor spoke to the steering wheel, not taking his eyes from the road.

"Don't worry I got the files. My client just decided tonight he was not going to go to bed at his usual time. He came up the stairs while I was moving data, so I wasn't able to place a false tracker code on the original file. He'll be able to tell the info has been 'copied and pasted'. He also wouldn't leave me alone and when he did finally go, he went to the kitchen that overlook the yard."

"Basically your client was a pain in the ass."

"Precisely. It was just a sloppy job. I hate leaving a mission so careless."

"Hey, as long as you got the job done and didn't leave any evidence, you'll be alright. You did wear false fingertips correct?"

"Yes, I did." I looked down and began peeling off the thin rubber tips covering my fingers.

"Then you will be fine. Sometimes things don't go according to plan. It just comes with the job.

* * *

When we got home the welcoming smell of roast filled my nose.

"Ah you've made it home! Just in time for dinner!" Viktor smiled up at us as he flipped through the TV channels in the living room. I went up to my room and changed into warm comfy clothes, including fuzzy socks. My feet still felt numb from the run. I made my way down to the kitchen and joined the rest of my newfound family.

"Scarlett! I hear your mission was a success, yes?"

I smiled at Jim as I cut into my piece of roast. I was extremely happy at the choice for dinner. "That would be correct. The mission was a little rough and didn't exactly go as planned, but I got the files and got out in time."

"And that's all that matters. I feel like this job is getting to be too easy for you."

I smiled again. "You said it, not me."

After dinner Jim and Trevor took the small hard drive and put it in a computer, only to find the information was password protected. Trevor went to start up a password decoding program but I interrupted and told him to try "RIGBY".

It worked.

I showered and got ready for bed, smiling wide for most of the time. I had done a pretty good job today, and being able to break the password on the first try made it even better. Jim had complimented me, and we had my favorite dish for dinner.

I walked into my room and was greeted by Viktor who grabbed me by the waist and pulled my lips to his. I happily obliged and kissed him hungrily. He began petting my short hair. It was about the same length as his, just not as curly.

"You've been doing a wonderful job Scarlett."

I smiled and kissed him again. "Thank you Viktor. It means a lot to me."

With that I allowed him to pull me over to his bed.

* * *

As I lay in Viktor's bed, my head on his chest, I thought of what my life has come to. I was now a consulting criminal. I played secret agent spy for a living. I live with the most supportive group of people I know. We all look out for each other and have great fun together. I'm always laughing and I never feel the need to keep my guard up. My jobs are sometimes dangerous but they're fun and exciting, always keeping me on my toes. I have a beautiful lover who was my rock. It was perfect, because I didn't have to be in a relationship, and no complicated feelings were involved. I didn't "love" him, and he didn't "love" me. It was strictly sex. And very good sex at that. Although I never think of my life before this, I do remember that life was full of hurt and confusion. I remember feeling torn half the time, and sometimes very bored. But not this life. This new life of mine was fun and bright and exciting and extreme and crazy.

I was finally happy.


End file.
